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+<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Beacon Lights of History, Volume XIII, by John Lord</title>
+ <style type="text/css">
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+<h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook, Beacon Lights of History, Volume XIII, by
+John Lord</h1>
+<pre>
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at <a href = "https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>
+
+Title: Beacon Lights of History, Volume XIII
+
+Author: John Lord
+
+Release Date: January 8, 2004 [eBook #10648]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: iso-8859-1
+
+***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BEACON LIGHTS OF HISTORY, VOLUME XIII***
+
+
+</pre>
+<center><h3>E-text prepared by Juliet Sutherland, Charlie Kirschner,<br>
+ and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team</h3></center>
+<br>
+<br>
+<hr class="full">
+<br><br>
+<center><i>LORD'S LECTURES</i></center>
+<br>
+<br><hr style="width: 35%;"><br><br>
+<h2>BEACON LIGHTS OF HISTORY.</h2>
+
+<h2>BY JOHN LORD, LL.D.</h2>
+
+<center>AUTHOR OF &quot;THE OLD ROMAN WORLD,&quot; &quot;MODERN EUROPE,&quot;
+ETC., ETC.</center>
+<br><br>
+
+<h2>VOLUME XIII.</h2>
+
+<h2>GREAT WRITERS.</h2>
+
+<center>
+DR LORD'S UNCOMPLETED PLAN,<br>
+SUPPLEMENTED WITH ESSAYS BY<br>
+EMERSON, MACAULAY, HEDGE, AND MERCER ADAM.
+</center>
+
+
+
+<br><br><hr style="width: 35%;"><br><br>
+<h2>PUBLISHERS' PREFACE.</h2>
+<br>
+
+<p>This being the last possible volume in the series of &quot;Beacon Lights of
+History&quot; from the pen of Dr. Lord, its readers will be interested to
+know that it contains all the lectures that he had completed (although
+not all that he had projected) for his review of certain of the chief
+Men of Letters. Lectures on other topics were found among his papers,
+but none that would perfectly fit into this scheme; and it was thought
+best not to attempt any collection of his material which he himself had
+not deemed worthy or appropriate for use in this series, which embodies
+the best of his life's work,--all of his books and his lectures that he
+wished to have preserved. For instance, &quot;The Old Roman World,&quot; enlarged
+in scope and rewritten, is included in the volumes on &quot;Old Pagan
+Civilizations,&quot; &quot;Ancient Achievements,&quot; and &quot;Imperial Antiquity;&quot; much
+of his &quot;Modern Europe&quot; reappears in &quot;Great Rulers,&quot; &quot;Modern European
+Statesmen,&quot; and &quot;European National Leaders,&quot; etc.</p>
+
+<p>The consideration of &quot;Great Writers&quot; was reserved by Dr. Lord for his
+final task,--a task interrupted by death and left unfinished. In order
+to round out and complete this volume, recourse has been had to some
+other masters in literary art, whose productions are added to Dr. Lord's
+final writings.</p>
+
+<p>In the present volume, therefore, are included the paper on
+&quot;Shakspeare&quot; by Emerson, reprinted from his &quot;Representative Men&quot; by
+permission of Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin &amp; Co., the authorized publishers
+of Emerson's works; the famous essay on &quot;Milton&quot; by Macaulay; the
+principal portion--biographical and generally critical--of the article
+on &quot;Goethe,&quot; from &quot;Hours with the German Classics,&quot; by the late Dr.
+Frederic H. Hedge, by permission of Messrs. Little, Brown &amp; Co., the
+publishers of that work; and a chapter on &quot;Tennyson: the Spirit of
+Modern Poetry,&quot; by G. Mercer Adam.</p>
+
+<p>A certain advantage may accrue to the reader in finding these masters
+side by side for comparison and for gauging Dr. Lord's unique life-work
+by recognized standards, keeping well in view the purpose no less than
+the perfection of these literary performances, all of which, like those
+of Dr. Lord, were aimed at setting forth the services of <i>selected
+forces</i> in the world's life.</p>
+
+<p>NEW YORK, September 15, 1902.</p>
+
+
+
+<br><br><hr style="width: 35%;"><br><br>
+<h2>CONTENTS.</h2>
+
+<hr style="width: 25%;">
+
+<p><i><a href="#JEAN_JACQUES_ROUSSEAU.">ROUSSEAU</a></i>.</p>
+
+<p>SOCIALISM AND EDUCATION.</p>
+
+Jean Jacques Rousseau and Edmund Burke<br>
+Rousseau representative of his century<br>
+Birth<br>
+Education and early career; engraver, footman<br>
+Secretary, music teacher, and writer<br>
+Meets Th&eacute;r&egrave;se<br>
+His first public essay in literature<br>
+Operetta and second essay<br>
+Geneva; the Hermitage; Madame d'&Eacute;pinay.<br>
+The &quot;Nouvelle H&eacute;lo&iuml;se;&quot; Comtesse d'Houdetot<br>
+&quot;&Eacute;mile;&quot; &quot;The Social Contract&quot;<br>
+Books publicly burned; author flees<br>
+England; Hume; the &quot;Confessions&quot;<br>
+Death, career reviewed<br>
+Character of Rousseau<br>
+Essay on the Arts and Sciences<br>
+&quot;Origin of Human Inequalities&quot;<br>
+&quot;The Social Contract&quot;<br>
+&quot;&Eacute;mile&quot;<br>
+The &quot;New H&eacute;lo&iuml;se&quot;<br>
+The &quot;Confessions&quot;<br>
+Influence of Rousseau<br>
+<br>
+
+<p><i><a href="#SIR_WALTER_SCOTT.">SIR WALTER SCOTT</a></i>.</p>
+
+<p>THE MODERN NOVEL.</p>
+
+Scott and Byron<br>
+Evanescence of literary fame<br>
+Parentage of Scott<br>
+Birth and childhood<br>
+Schooling and reading<br>
+Becomes an advocate<br>
+His friends and pleasures<br>
+Personal peculiarities<br>
+Writing of poetry; first publication<br>
+Marriage and settlement<br>
+&quot;Scottish Minstrelsy&quot;<br>
+&quot;Lay of the Last Minstrel;&quot; Ashestiel rented<br>
+The Edinburgh Review: Jeffrey, Brougham, Smith<br>
+The Ballantynes<br>
+&quot;Marmion&quot;<br>
+Jeffrey as a critic<br>
+Quarrels of author and publishers; Quarterly Review<br>
+Scott's poetry<br>
+Duration of poetic fame<br>
+Clerk of Sessions; Abbotsford bought<br>
+&quot;Lord of the Isles;&quot; &quot;Rokeby&quot;<br>
+Fiction; fame of great authors<br>
+&quot;Waverley&quot;<br>
+&quot;Guy Mannering&quot;<br>
+Great popularity of Scott<br>
+&quot;The Antiquary&quot;<br>
+&quot;Old Mortality;&quot; comparisons<br>
+&quot;Rob Roy&quot;<br>
+Scotland's debt to Scott<br>
+Prosperity; rank; correspondence<br>
+Personal habits<br>
+Life at Abbotsford<br>
+Chosen friends<br>
+Works issued in 1820-1825<br>
+Bankruptcy through failure of his publishers<br>
+Scott's noble character and action<br>
+Works issued in 1825-1831<br>
+Illness and death<br>
+Payment of his enormous debt<br>
+Vast pecuniary returns from his works<br>
+<br>
+
+<p><i><a href="#LORD_BYRON.">LORD BYRON</a></i>.</p>
+
+<p>POETIC GENIUS.</p>
+
+Difficulty of depicting Byron<br>
+Descent; birth; lameness<br>
+Schooling; early reading habits<br>
+College life<br>
+Temperament and character<br>
+First publication of poems<br>
+Savage criticism by Edinburgh Review<br>
+&quot;English Bards and Scotch Reviewers&quot;<br>
+Byron becomes a peer<br>
+Loneliness and melancholy; determines to travel<br>
+Portugal; Spain<br>
+Malta; Greece; Turkey<br>
+Profanity of language in Byron's time<br>
+&quot;Childe Harold&quot;<br>
+Instant fame and popularity<br>
+Consideration of the poem<br>
+Marries Miss Milbanke; separation<br>
+Genius and marriage<br>
+&quot;The Corsair;&quot; &quot;Bride of Abydos&quot;<br>
+Evil reputation; loss of public favor<br>
+Byron leaves England forever<br>
+Switzerland; the Shelleys; new poems<br>
+Degrading life in Venice<br>
+Wonderful labors amid dissipation<br>
+The Countess Guiccioli<br>
+Two sides to Byron's character<br>
+His power and fertility<br>
+Inexcusable immorality; &quot;Don Juan&quot;<br>
+&quot;Manfred&quot; and &quot;Cain&quot; not irreligious but dramatic<br>
+Byron not atheistical but morbid<br>
+Many noble traits and actions<br>
+Generosity and fidelity in friendship<br>
+Eulogies by Scott and Moore<br>
+Byron's interest in the Greek Revolution<br>
+Devotes himself to that cause<br>
+Raises &pound;10,000 and embarks for Greece<br>
+Collects troops in his own pay<br>
+His latest verses<br>
+Illness from vexation and exposure<br>
+Death and burial<br>
+The verdict<br>
+<br>
+
+<p><i><a href="#THOMAS_CARLYLE.">THOMAS CARLYLE</a></i>.</p>
+
+<p>CRITICISM AND BIOGRAPHY.</p>
+
+Froude's Biography of Carlyle<br>
+Brief r&eacute;sum&eacute; of Carlyle's career<br>
+Parentage and birth<br>
+Slender education; school-teaching<br>
+Abandons clerical intentions to become a writer<br>
+&quot;Elements of Geometry;&quot; &quot;Life of Schiller;&quot; &quot;Wilhelm Meister&quot;<br>
+Marries Jane Welsh<br>
+Her character<br>
+Edinburgh and Craigenputtock<br>
+Essays: &quot;German Literature&quot;<br>
+Goethe's &quot;Helena&quot;<br>
+&quot;Burns&quot;<br>
+&quot;Life of Heyne;&quot; &quot;Voltaire&quot;<br>
+&quot;Characteristics&quot;<br>
+Wholesome and productive life at Craigenputtock<br>
+&quot;Dr. Johnson&quot;<br>
+Friendship with Ralph Waldo Emerson<br>
+&quot;Sartor Resartus&quot;<br>
+Carlyle removes to London<br>
+Begins &quot;The French Revolution&quot;<br>
+Manuscript accidentally destroyed<br>
+Habits of great authors in rewriting<br>
+Publication of the work; Carlyle's literary style<br>
+Better reception in America than in England<br>
+Carlyle begins lecturing<br>
+Popular eloquence in England<br>
+Carlyle and the Chartists<br>
+&quot;Heroes and Hero Worship&quot;<br>
+&quot;Past and Present&quot;<br>
+Carlyle becomes bitter<br>
+&quot;Latter-Day Pamphlets&quot;<br>
+&quot;Life of Oliver Cromwell&quot;<br>
+Carlyle's confounding right with might<br>
+Great merits of Carlyle as historian<br>
+Death of Mrs. Carlyle<br>
+Success of Carlyle established<br>
+&quot;Frederick the Great&quot;<br>
+Decline of the author's popularity<br>
+Public honors; private sorrow<br>
+Final illness and death<br>
+Carlyle's place in literature<br>
+<br>
+
+<p><i><a href="#LORD_MACAULAY.">LORD MACAULAY</a></i>.</p>
+
+<p>ARTISTIC HISTORICAL WRITING.</p>
+
+Macaulay's varied talents<br>
+Descent and parentage<br>
+Birth and youth<br>
+Education<br>
+Character; his greatness intellectual rather than moral<br>
+College career<br>
+Enters the law<br>
+His early writings; poetry; essay on Milton<br>
+Social success; contemporaries<br>
+Enters politics and Parliament<br>
+Sent to India; secretary board of education<br>
+Essays in the Reviews<br>
+Limitations as a statesman<br>
+Devotion to literature<br>
+Personal characteristics<br>
+Return to London and public office<br>
+Still writing essays; &quot;Warren Hastings,&quot; &quot;Clive&quot;<br>
+Special public appreciation in America<br>
+Drops out of Parliament; begins &quot;History of England&quot;<br>
+Prodigious labor; extent and exactness of his knowledge<br>
+Self-criticism; brilliancy of style<br>
+Some inconsistencies<br>
+Public honors<br>
+Remarkable successes; re-enters Parliament<br>
+Illness and growing weakness<br>
+Conclusion of the History; foreign and domestic honors<br>
+Resigns seat in Parliament<br>
+Social habits<br>
+Literary tastes<br>
+Final illness and death; his fame<br>
+<br>
+
+<p><i><a href="#SHAKSPEARE;_OR,_THE_POET.">SHAKSPEARE; OR, THE POET</a></i>.</p>
+
+<p>BY RALPH WALDO EMERSON.</p>
+
+The debt of genius to its age and preceding time.<br>
+
+The era of Shakspeare favorable to dramatic entertainments.<br>
+
+The stage a substitute for the newspaper of his era.<br>
+
+The poet draws upon extant materials--the lime and mortar to his hand.<br>
+
+Plays which show the original rock on which his own finer stratum is
+laid.<br>
+
+In drawing upon tradition and upon earlier plays the poet's memory is
+taxed equally with his invention.<br>
+
+All originality is relative; every thinker is retrospective.<br>
+
+The world's literary treasure the result of many a one's labor;
+centuries have contributed to its existence and perfection.<br>
+
+Shakspeare's contemporaries, correspondents, and acquaintances.<br>
+
+Work of the Shakspeare Society in gathering material to throw light upon
+the poet's life, and to illustrate the development of the drama.<br>
+
+His external history meagre; Shakspeare is the only biographer of
+Shakspeare.<br>
+
+What the sonnets and the dramas reveal of the poet's mind and character.<br>
+
+His unique creative power, wisdom of life, and great gifts of
+imagination.<br>
+
+Equality of power in farce, tragedy, narrative, and love-songs.<br>
+
+Notable traits in the poet's character and disposition; his tone pure,
+sovereign, and cheerful.<br>
+
+Despite his genius, he shares the halfness and imperfection of humanity.<br>
+
+A seer who saw all things to convert them into entertainments, as master
+of the revels to mankind.<br>
+<br>
+
+<p><i><a href="#JOHN_MILTON:_POET_AND_PATRIOT.">JOHN MILTON: POET AND PATRIOT</a></i>.</p>
+
+<p>BY THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY.</p>
+
+His long-lost essay on Doctrines of Christianity.<br>
+
+As a poet, his place among the greatest masters of the art.<br>
+
+Unfavorable circumstances of his era, born &quot;an age too late&quot;.<br>
+
+A rude era more favorable to poetry.<br>
+
+The poetical temperament highest in a rude state of society.<br>
+
+Milton distinguished by the excellence of his Latin verse.<br>
+
+His genius gives to it an air of nobleness and freedom.<br>
+
+Characteristics and magical influence of Milton's poetry.<br>
+
+Mechanism of his language attains exquisite perfection.<br>
+
+&quot;L'Allegro&quot; and &quot;II Penseroso,&quot; &quot;Comus&quot; and &quot;Samson Agonistes&quot;
+described.<br>
+
+&quot;Comus&quot; properly more lyrical than dramatic.<br>
+
+Milton's preference for &quot;Paradise Regained&quot; over &quot;Paradise Lost&quot;.<br>
+
+Contrasts between Milton and Dante.<br>
+
+Milton's handling of supernatural beings in his poetry.<br>
+
+His art of communicating his meaning through succession of associated
+ideas.<br>
+
+Other contrasts between Milton and Dante--the mysterious and the
+picturesque in their verse.<br>
+
+Milton's fiends wonderful creations, not metaphysical abstractions.<br>
+
+Moral qualities of Milton and Dante.<br>
+
+The Sonnets simple but majestic records of the poet's feelings.<br>
+
+Milton's public conduct that of a man of high spirit and powerful
+intellect.<br>
+
+Eloquent champion of the principles of freedom.<br>
+
+His public conduct to be esteemed in the light of the times, and of its
+great question whether the resistance of the people to Charles I. was
+justifiable or criminal.<br>
+
+Approval of the Great Rebellion and of Milton's attitude towards it.<br>
+
+Eulogium on Cromwell and approval of Milton's taking office (Latin
+Secretaryship) under him.<br>
+
+The Puritans and Royalists, or Roundheads and Cavaliers.<br>
+
+The battle Milton fought for freedom of the human mind.<br>
+
+High estimate of Milton's prose works.<br>
+<br>
+
+<p><i><a href="#JOHANN_WOLFGANG_VON_GOETHE.">JOHANN WOLFGANG VON GOETHE</a></i>.</p>
+
+<p>GERMANY'S GREATEST WRITER.</p>
+
+<p>BY FREDERIC HENRY HEDGE.</p>
+
+Fills highest place among the poets and prose-writers of Germany.<br>
+
+Influences that made the man.<br>
+
+Self-discipline and educational training.<br>
+
+Counsellor to Duke Karl August at Weimar, where he afterwards resides.<br>
+
+Visits Italy; makes Schiller's acquaintance; Goethe's personal
+appearance.<br>
+
+His unflagging industry; defence of the poet's personal character.<br>
+
+The &quot;M&auml;rchen,&quot; its interpretation and the light it throws on Goethe's
+political career.<br>
+
+Lyrist, dramatist, novelist, and mystic seer.<br>
+
+His drama &quot;G&ouml;tz von Berlichingen,&quot; and &quot;Sorrows of Werther&quot;.<br>
+
+Popularity of his ballads; his elegies, and &quot;Hermann und Dorothea&quot;.<br>
+
+&quot;Iphigenie auf Tauris;&quot; his stage plays &quot;Faust&quot; (First Part) and
+&quot;Egmont&quot;.<br>
+
+The prose works &quot;Wilhelm Meister&quot; and the &quot;Elective Affinities&quot;.<br>
+
+His skill in the delineation of female character.<br>
+
+&quot;Faust;&quot; contrasts in spirit and style between the two Parts.<br>
+
+Import of the work, key to or analysis of the plot.<br>
+<br>
+
+<p><i><a href="#ALFRED_(LORD)_TENNYSON.">ALFRED (LORD) TENNYSON</a></i>.</p>
+
+<p>THE SPIRIT OF MODERN POETRY.</p>
+
+<p>BY G. MERCER ADAM.</p>
+
+Tennyson's supreme excellence--his transcendent art.<br>
+
+His work the perfection of literary form; his melody exquisite.<br>
+
+Representative of the age's highest thought and culture.<br>
+
+Keen interpreter of the deep underlying spirit of his time.<br>
+
+Contemplative and brooding verse, full of rhythmic beauty.<br>
+
+The &quot;Idylls of the King,&quot; their deep ethical motive and underlying
+purpose.<br>
+
+His profound religious convictions and belief in the eternal verities.<br>
+
+Hallam Tennyson's memoir of the poet; his friends and intimates.<br>
+
+The poet's birth, family, and youthful characteristics.<br>
+
+Early publishing ventures; his volume of 1842 gave him high rank.<br>
+
+Personal appearance, habits, and mental traits.<br>
+
+&quot;In Memoriam,&quot; its noble, artistic expression of sorrow for Arthur
+Hallam.<br>
+
+&quot;The Princess&quot; and its moral, in the treatment of its &quot;Woman Question&quot;
+theme.<br>
+
+The metrical romance &quot;Maud,&quot; and &quot;The Idylls of the King,&quot; an epic of
+chivalry.<br>
+
+&quot;Enoch Arden,&quot; and the dramas &quot;Harold,&quot; &quot;Becket,&quot; and &quot;Queen Mary&quot;.<br>
+
+Other dramatic compositions: &quot;The Falcon,&quot; &quot;The Cup,&quot; and &quot;The Promise
+of May&quot;.<br>
+
+The pastoral play, &quot;The Foresters,&quot; and later collections of poems and
+ballads.<br>
+
+The poet's high faith, and belief that &quot;good is the final goal of ill&quot;.<br>
+
+His exalted place among the great literary influences of his era.<br>
+
+Expressive to his age of the high and hallowing Spirit of Modern
+Poetry.<br>
+<br>
+
+<p>LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</p>
+
+<p>VOLUME XIII.</p>
+
+<a href="Illus0476.jpg">The Young Goethe at Frankfort</a> <i>Frontispiece</i>
+<i>After the painting by Frank Kirchbach</i>.<br>
+
+<a href="Illus0477.jpg">Jean Jacques Rousseau</a>
+<i>After the painting by M. Q. de la Tour, Chantilly, France</i>.<br>
+
+<a href="Illus0478.jpg">Sir Walter Scott</a>
+<i>After the painting by Sir Henry Raeburn, R. A</i>.<br>
+
+<a href="Illus0479.jpg">Lord Byron</a>
+<i>After the painting by P. Kr&auml;mer</i>.<br>
+
+<a href="Illus0480.jpg">Fran&ccedil;ois Marie Arouet de Voltaire</a>
+<i>After the painting by M. Q. de la Tour, Endoxe Marville
+Collection, Paris</i>.<br>
+
+<a href="Illus0481.jpg">Thomas Carlyle</a>
+<i>After a photograph from life</i><br>
+
+<a href="Illus0482.jpg">Thomas Babington Macaulay</a>
+<i>After a photograph by Maule, London</i>.<br>
+
+<a href="Illus0483.jpg">William Shakspeare</a>
+<i>After the &quot;Chandos Portrait,&quot; National Portrait Gallery, London</i>.<br>
+
+<a href="Illus0484.jpg">John Milton</a>
+<i>After the painting by Pieter van der Plaas</i>.<br>
+
+<a href="Illus0485.jpg">Milton Visits the Aged Galileo</a>
+<i>After the painting by T. Lessi</i>.<br>
+
+<a href="Illus0486.jpg">Goethe</a>
+<i>After the painting by C. Jaeger</i>.<br>
+
+<a href="Illus0487.jpg">Alfred (Lord) Tennyson</a>
+<i>After the painting by G. F. Watts, R. A</i>.<br>
+
+<a href="Illus0488.jpg">Tennyson's Elaine</a>
+<i>After the painting by T. E. Rosenthal</i>.<br>
+
+
+
+<br><br><hr style="width: 35%;"><br><br>
+<h2>BEACON LIGHTS OF HISTORY.</h2>
+
+<hr style="width: 25%;">
+
+<h2><a name="JEAN_JACQUES_ROUSSEAU."></a>JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU.</h2>
+
+<hr style="width: 25%;">
+
+<p>1712-1778.</p>
+
+<p>SOCIALISM AND EDUCATION.</p>
+<br>
+
+<p>Two great political writers in the eighteenth century, of antagonistic
+views, but both original and earnest, have materially affected the whole
+science of government, and even of social life, from their day to ours,
+and in their influence really belong to the nineteenth century. One was
+the apostle of radicalism; the other of conservatism. The one, more than
+any other single man, stimulated, though unwittingly, the French
+Revolution; the other opposed that mad outburst with equal eloquence,
+and caused in Europe a reaction from revolutionary principles. While one
+is far better known to-day than the other, to the thoughtful both are
+exponents and representatives of conflicting political and social
+questions which agitate this age.</p>
+
+<p>These men were Jean Jacques Rousseau and Edmund Burke,--one Swiss, and
+the other English. Burke I have already treated of in a former volume.
+His name is no longer a power, but his influence endures in all the
+grand reforms of which he was a part, and for which his generation in
+England is praised; while his writings remain a treasure-house of
+political and moral wisdom, sure to be drawn upon during every public
+discussion of governmental principles. Rousseau, although a writer of a
+hundred years ago, seems to me a fit representative of political,
+social, and educational ideas in the present day, because his theories
+are still potent, and even in this scientific age more widely diffused
+than ever before. Not without reason, it is true, for he embodied
+certain germinant ideas in a fascinating literary style; but it is hard
+to understand how so weak a man could have exercised such far-reaching
+influence.</p>
+
+<p>Himself a genuine and passionate lover of Nature; recognizing in his
+principles of conduct no duties that could conflict with personal
+inclinations; born in democratic and freedom-loving Switzerland, and
+early imbued through his reading of German and English writers with
+ideas of liberty,--which in those conservative lands were
+wholesome,--he distilled these ideas into charming literary creations
+that were eagerly read by the restless minds of France and wrought in
+them political frenzy. The reforms he projected grew out of his theories
+of the &quot;rights&quot; of man, without reference to the duties that limit those
+rights; and his appeal for their support to men's passions and selfish
+instincts and to a sentimental philosophy, in an age of irreligion and
+immorality, aroused a political tempest which he little contemplated.</p>
+
+<p>In an age so infidel and brilliant as that which preceded the French
+Revolution, the writings of Rousseau had a peculiar charm, and produced
+a great effect even on men who despised his character and ignored his
+mission. He engendered the Robespierres and Condorcets of the
+Revolution,--those sentimental murderers, who under the guise of
+philosophy attacked the fundamental principles of justice and destroyed
+the very rights which they invoked.</p>
+
+<p>Jean Jacques Rousseau was born at Geneva in the year 1712, when Voltaire
+was first rising into notice. He belonged to the plebeian ranks, being
+the son of a watchmaker; was sickly, miserable, and morbid from a child;
+was poorly educated, but a great devourer of novels (which his
+father--sentimental as he--read with him), poetry, and gushing
+biographies; although a little later he became, with impartial facility,
+equally delighted with the sturdy Plutarch. His nature was passionate
+and inconstant, his sensibilities morbidly acute, and his imagination
+lively. He hated all rules, precedents, and authority. He was lazy,
+listless, deceitful, and had a great craving for novelties and
+excitement,--as he himself says, &quot;feeling everything and knowing
+nothing.&quot; At an early age, without money or friends, he ran away from
+the engraver to whom he had been apprenticed, and after various
+adventures was first kindly received by a Catholic priest in Savoy; then
+by a generous and erring woman of wealth lately converted to
+Catholicism; and again by the priests of a Catholic Seminary in
+Sardinia, under whose tuition, and in order to advance his personal
+fortunes, he abjured the religion in which he had been brought up, and
+professed Catholicism. This, however, cost him no conscientious
+scruples, for his religious training had been of the slimmest, and
+principles he had none.</p>
+
+<p>We next see Rousseau as a footman in the service of an Italian Countess,
+where he was mean enough to accuse a servant girl of a theft he had
+himself committed, thereby causing her ruin. Again, employed as a
+footman in the service of another noble family, his extraordinary
+talents were detected, and he was made secretary. But all this kindness
+he returned with insolence, and again became a wanderer. In his
+isolation he sought the protection of the Swiss lady who had before
+befriended him, Madame de Warens. He began as her secretary, and ended
+in becoming her lover. In her house he saw society and learned music.</p>
+
+<p>A fit of caprice induced Rousseau to throw up this situation, and he
+then taught music in Chamb&eacute;ry for a living, studied hard, read Voltaire,
+Descartes, Locke, Hobbes, Leibnitz, and Puffendorf, and evinced an
+uncommon vivacity and talent for conversation, which made him a favorite
+in social circles. His chief labor, however, for five years was in
+inventing a system of musical notation, which led him to Lyons, and
+then, in 1741, to Paris.</p>
+
+<p>He was now twenty-nine years old,--a visionary man, full of schemes,
+with crude opinions and unbounded self-conceit, but poor and unknown,--a
+true adventurer, with many agreeable qualities, irregular habits, and
+not very scrupulous morals. Favored by letters of introduction to ladies
+of distinction,--for he was a favorite with ladies, who liked his
+enthusiasm, freshness, elegant talk, and grand sentiments,--he succeeded
+in getting his system of musical notation examined, although not
+accepted, by the French Academy, and secured an appointment as
+secretary in the suite of the Ambassador to Venice.</p>
+
+<p>In this city Rousseau remained but a short time, being disgusted with
+what he called &quot;official insolence,&quot; which did not properly recognize
+native genius. He returned to Paris as poor as when he left it, and
+lived in a cheap restaurant. There he made the acquaintance of his
+Th&eacute;r&egrave;se, a healthy, amiable woman, but low, illiterate, unappreciative,
+and coarse, the author of many of his subsequent miseries. She lived
+with him till he died,--at first as his mistress and housekeeper,
+although later in life he married her. She was the mother of his five
+children, every one of whom he sent to a foundling hospital, justifying
+his inhumanity by those sophistries and paradoxes with which his
+writings abound,--even in one of his letters appealing for pity because
+he &quot;had never known the sweetness of a father's embrace.&quot; With
+extraordinary self-conceit, too, he looked upon himself, all the while,
+in his numerous illicit loves, as a paragon of virtue, being apparently
+without any moral sense or perception of moral distinctions.</p>
+
+<p>It was not till Rousseau was thirty-nine years of age that he attracted
+public attention by his writings, although earlier known in literary
+circles,--especially in that infidel Parisian <i>coterie</i>, where Diderot,
+Grimm, D'Holbach, D'Alembert, David Hume, the Marquis de Mirabeau,
+Helvetius, and other wits shined, in which circle no genius was
+acknowledged and no profundity of thought was deemed possible unless
+allied with those pagan ideas which Saint Augustine had exploded and
+Pascal had ridiculed. Even while living among these people, Rousseau had
+all the while a kind of sentimental religiosity which revolted at their
+ribald scoffing, although he never protested.</p>
+
+<p>He had written some fugitive pieces of music, and had attempted and
+failed in several slight operettas, composing both music and words; but
+the work which made Rousseau famous was his essay on a subject
+propounded in 1749 by the Academy of Dijon: &quot;Has the Progress of Science
+and the Arts Contributed to Corrupt or to Purify Morals?&quot; This was a
+strange subject for a literary institution to propound, but one which
+exactly fitted the genius of Rousseau. The boldness of his paradox--for
+he maintained the evil effects of science and art--and the brilliancy of
+his style secured readers, although the essay was crude in argument and
+false in logic. In his &quot;Confessions&quot; he himself condemns it as the
+weakest of all his works, although &quot;full of force and fire;&quot; and he
+adds: &quot;With whatever talent a man may be born, the art of writing is not
+easily learned.&quot; It has been said that Rousseau got the idea of taking
+the &quot;off side&quot; of this question from his literary friend Diderot, and
+that his unexpected success with it was the secret of his life-long
+career of opposition to all established institutions. This is
+interesting, but not very authentic.</p>
+
+<p>The next year, his irregular activity having been again stimulated by
+learning that his essay had gained the premium at Dijon, and by the fact
+of its great vogue as a published pamphlet, another performance fairly
+raised Rousseau to the pinnacle of fashion; and this was an opera which
+he composed, &quot;Le Devin du Village&quot; (The Village Sorcerer), which was
+performed at Fontainebleau before the Court, and received with
+unexampled enthusiasm. His profession, so far as he had any, was that of
+a copyist of music, and his musical taste and facile talents had at last
+brought him an uncritical recognition.</p>
+
+<p>But Rousseau soon abandoned music for literature. In 1753 he wrote
+another essay for the Academy of Dijon, on the &quot;Origin of the Inequality
+of Man,&quot; full of still more startling paradoxes than his first, in which
+he attempted to show, with great felicity of language, the superiority
+of savage life over civilization.</p>
+
+<p>At the age of forty-two Rousseau revisited Protestant Geneva, abjured in
+its turn the Catholic faith, and was offered the post of librarian of
+the city. But he could not live out of the atmosphere of Paris; nor did
+he wish to remain under the shadow of Voltaire, living in his villa near
+the City Gate of Geneva, who had but little admiration for Rousseau, and
+whose superior social position excited the latter's envy. Yet he
+professed to hate Paris with its conventionalities and fashions, and
+sought a quiet retreat where he could more leisurely pursue his studies
+and enjoy Nature, which he really loved. This was provided for him by an
+enthusiastic friend,--Madame d'&Eacute;pinay,--in the beautiful valley of
+Montmorenci, and called &quot;The Hermitage,&quot; situated in the grounds of her
+Ch&acirc;teau de la Chevrette. Here he lived with his wife and mother-in-law,
+he himself enjoying the hospitalities of the Ch&acirc;teau besides,--society
+of a most cultivated kind, also woods, lawns, parks, gardens,--all for
+nothing; the luxuries of civilization, the glories of Nature, and the
+delights of friendship combined. It was an earthly paradise, given him
+by enthusiastic admirers of his genius and conversation.</p>
+
+<p>In this retreat, one of the most favored which a poor author ever had,
+Rousseau, ever craving some outlet for his passionate sentiments,
+created an ideal object of love. He wrote imaginary letters, dwelling
+with equal rapture on those he wrote and those he fancied he received
+in return, and which he read to his lady friends, after his rambles in
+the forests and parks, during their reunions at the supper-table. Thus
+was born the &quot;Nouvelle H&eacute;lo&iuml;se,&quot;--a novel of immense fame, in which the
+characters are invested with every earthly attraction, living in
+voluptuous peace, yet giving vent to those passions which consume the
+unsatisfied soul. It was the forerunner of &quot;Corinne,&quot; &quot;The Sorrows of
+Werther,&quot; &quot;Thaddeus of Warsaw,&quot; and all those sentimental romances which
+amused our grandfathers and grandmothers, but which increased the
+prejudice of religious people against novels. It was not until Sir
+Walter Scott arose with his wholesome manliness that the embargo against
+novels was removed.</p>
+
+<p>The life which Rousseau lived at the Hermitage--reveries in the
+forest, luxurious dinners, and sentimental friendships--led to a
+passionate love-affair with the Comtesse d'Houdetot, a sister-in-law
+of his patroness Madame d'&Eacute;pinay,--a woman not only married,
+but who had another lover besides. The result, of course, was
+miserable,--jealousies, piques, humiliations, misunderstandings, and the
+sundering of the ties of friendship, which led to the necessity of
+another retreat: a real home the wretched man never had. This was
+furnished, still in the vicinity of Montmorenci, by another aristocratic
+friend, the Mar&eacute;chal de Luxembourg, the fiscal agent of the Prince de
+Cond&eacute;. And nothing to me is stranger than that this wandering, morbid,
+irritable man, without birth or fortune, the father of the wildest
+revolutionary and democratic doctrines, and always hated both by the
+Court and the Church, should have found his friends and warmest admirers
+and patrons in the highest circles of social life. It can be explained
+only by the singular fascination of his eloquence, and by the extreme
+stolidity of his worshippers in appreciating his doctrines, and the
+state of society to which his principles logically led.</p>
+
+<p>In this second retreat Rousseau had the <i>entr&eacute;e</i> to the palace of the
+Duke of Luxembourg, where he read to the friends assembled at its
+banquets his new production, &quot;&Eacute;mile,&quot;--a singular treatise on education,
+not so faulty as his previous works, but still false in many of its
+principles, especially in regard to religion. This book contained an
+admirable and powerful impulse away from artificiality and towards
+naturalness in education, which has exerted an immense influence for
+good; we shall revert to it later.</p>
+
+<p>A few months before the publication of &quot;&Eacute;mile,&quot; Rousseau had issued &quot;The
+Social Contract,&quot; the most revolutionary of all his works, subversive of
+all precedents in politics, government, and the organization of society,
+while also confounding Christianity with ecclesiasticism and attacking
+its influence in the social order. All his works obtained a wide fame
+before publication by reason of his habit of reading them to
+enthusiastic and influential friends who made them known.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;The Social Contract,&quot; however, dangerous as it was, did not when
+published arouse so much opposition as &quot;&Eacute;mile.&quot; The latter book, as we
+now see, contained much that was admirable; but its freedom and
+looseness in religious discussion called down the wrath of the clergy,
+excited the alarm of the government, and finally compelled the author to
+fly for his life to Switzerland.</p>
+
+<p>Rousseau is now regarded as an enemy to Christian doctrine, even as he
+was a foe to the existing institutions of society. In Geneva his books
+are publicly burned. Henceforth his life is embittered by constant
+persecution. He flies from canton to canton in the freest country in
+Europe, obnoxious not only for his opinions but for his habits of life.
+He affectedly adopts the Armenian dress, with its big fur bonnet and
+long girdled caftan, among the Swiss peasantry. He is as full of
+personal eccentricities as he is of intellectual crotchets. He becomes a
+sort of literary vagabond, with every man's hand against him. He now
+writes a series of essays, called &quot;Letters from the Mountain,&quot; full of
+bitterness and anti-Christian sentiments. So incensed by these writings
+are the country people among whom he dwells that he is again forced
+to fly.</p>
+
+<p>David Hume, regarding him as a mild, affectionate, and persecuted man,
+gives Rousseau a shelter in England. The wretched man retires to
+Derbyshire, and there writes his &quot;Confessions,&quot;--the most interesting
+and most dangerous of his books, showing a diseased and irritable mind,
+and most sophistical views on the immutable principles of both morality
+and religion. A victim of mistrust and jealousy, he quarrels with Hume,
+who learns to despise his character, while pitying the sensitive
+sufferings of one whom he calls &quot;a man born without a skin.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Rousseau returns to France at the age of fifty-five. After various
+wanderings he is permitted to settle in Paris, where he lives with great
+frugality in a single room, poorly furnished,--supporting himself by
+again copying music, sought still in high society, yet shy, reserved,
+forlorn, bitter; occasionally making new friends, who are attracted by
+the infantine simplicity of his manners and apparent amiability, but
+losing them almost as soon as made by his petty jealousies and
+irritability, being &quot;equally indignant at neglect and intolerant of
+attention.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Rousseau's declining health and the fear of his friends that he was on
+the borders of insanity led to his last retreat, offered by a
+munificent friend, at Ermenonville, near Paris, where he died at
+sixty-six years of age, in 1778, as some think from poison administered
+by his own hand. The revolutionary National Assembly of France in 1790
+bestowed a pension of fifteen hundred francs on his worthless widow, who
+had married a stable-boy soon after the death of her husband.</p>
+
+<p>Such was the checkered life of Rousseau. As to his character, Lord
+Brougham says that &quot;never was so much genius before united with so much
+weakness.&quot; The leading spring of his life was egotism. He never felt
+himself wrong, and the sophistries he used to justify his immoralities
+are both ludicrous and pitiable. His treatment of Madame de Warens, his
+first benefactor, was heartless, while the abandonment of his children
+was infamous. He twice changed his religion without convictions, for the
+advancement of his fortunes. He pretended to be poor when he was
+independent in his circumstances. He supposed himself to be without
+vanity, while he was notoriously the most conceited man in France. He
+quarrelled with all his friends. He made war on society itself. He
+declared himself a believer in Christianity, but denied all revelation,
+all miracles, all inspiration, all supernaturalism, and everything he
+could not reconcile with his reason. His bitterest enemies were the
+atheists themselves, who regarded him as a hypocrite, since he professed
+to believe in what he undermined. The hostility of the Church was
+excited against him, not because he directly assailed Christianity, but
+because he denied all its declarations and sapped its authority.</p>
+
+<p>Rousseau was, however, a sentimentalist rather than a rationalist, an
+artist rather than a philosopher. He was not a learned man, but a bold
+thinker. He would root out all distinctions in society, because they
+could not be reconciled with his sense of justice. He preached a gospel
+of human rights, based not on Christianity but on instinct. He was full
+of impracticable theories. He would have no war, no suffering, no
+hardship, no bondage, no fear, and even no labor, since these were
+evils, and, according to his notions of moral government, unnecessary.
+But in all his grand theories he ignored the settled laws of
+Providence,--even those of that &quot;Nature&quot; he so fervently
+worshipped,--all that is decreed concerning man or woman, all that is
+stern and real in existence; and while he uttered such sophistries, he
+excited discontent with the inevitable condition of man, he loosened
+family ties, he relaxed wholesome restraints, he infused an intense
+hatred of all conditions subject to necessary toil.</p>
+
+<p>The life of this embittered philanthropist was as great a contradiction
+as were his writings. This benevolent man sends his own children to a
+foundling hospital. This independent man lives for years on the bounty
+of an erring woman, whom at last he exposes and deserts. This
+high-minded idealizer of friendship quarrels with every man who seeks to
+extricate him from the consequences of his own imprudence. This
+affectionate lover refuses a seat at his table to the woman with whom he
+lives and who is the mother of his children. This proud republican
+accepts a pension from King George III., and lives in the houses of
+aristocratic admirers without payment. This religious teacher rarely
+goes to church, or respects the outward observances of the Christianity
+he affects. This moral theorizer, on his own confession, steals and lies
+and cheats. This modest innocent corrupts almost every woman who listens
+to his eloquence. This lofty thinker consumes his time in frivolity and
+senseless quarrels. This patriot makes war on the institutions of his
+country and even of civilized life. This humble man turns his back on
+every one who will not do him reverence.</p>
+
+<p>Such was this precursor of revolutions, this agitator, this hypocrite,
+this egotist, this lying prophet,--a man admired and despised, brilliant
+but indefinite, original but not true, acute but not wise; logical, but
+reasoning on false premises; advancing some great truths, but spoiling
+their legitimate effect by sophistries and falsehoods.</p>
+
+<p>Why, then, discuss the ideas and influence of so despicable a creature?
+Because, sophistical as they were, those ideas contained truths of
+tremendous germinant power; because in the rank soil of his times they
+produced a vast crop of bitter, poisonous fruit, while in the more open,
+better a&euml;rated soil of this century they have borne and have yet to bear
+a fruitage of universal benefit. God's ways seem mysterious; it is for
+men patiently to study, understand, and utilize them.</p>
+
+<p>Let us turn to the more definite consideration of the writings which
+have given this author so brilliant a fame. I omit any review of his
+operas and his system of musical notation, as not bearing on the
+opinions of society.</p>
+
+<p>The first work, as I have said, which brought Rousseau into notice was
+the treatise for the Academy of Dijon, as to whether the arts and
+sciences have contributed to corrupt or to purify morals. Rousseau
+followed the bent of his genius, in maintaining that they have done more
+harm than good; and he was so fresh and original and brilliant that he
+gained the prize. This little work contains the germ of all his
+subsequent theories, especially that in which he magnifies the state of
+nature over civilization,--an amazing paradox, which, however, appealed
+to society when men were wearied with the very pleasures for which
+they lived.</p>
+
+<p>Rousseau's cant about the virtues engendered by ignorance, idleness, and
+barbarism is repulsive to every sound mind, Civilization may present
+greater temptations than a state of nature, but these are inseparable
+from any growth, and can be overcome by the valorous mind. Who but a
+madman would sweep away civilization with its factitious and remediable
+evils for barbarism with its untutored impulses and animal life? Here
+Rousseau makes war upon society, upon all that is glorious in the
+advance of intellect and the growth of morality,--upon the reason and
+aspirations of mankind. Can inexperience be a better guide than
+experience, when it encounters crime and folly? Yet, on the other hand,
+a plea for greater simplicity of life, a larger study of Nature, and a
+freer enjoyment of its refreshing contrasts to the hot-house life of
+cities, is one of the most reasonable and healthful impulses of our
+own day.</p>
+
+<p>What can be more absurd, although bold and striking, than Rousseau's
+essay on the &quot;Origin of Human Inequalities&quot;! In this he pushes out the
+doctrine of personal liberty to its utmost logical sequence, so as to do
+away with government itself, and with all regulation for the common
+good. We do not quarrel with his abstract propositions in respect to
+political equality; but his deductions strike a blow at civilization,
+since he maintains that inequalities of human condition are the source
+of all political and social evils, while Christianity, confirmed by
+common-sense, teaches that the source of social evils is in the selfish
+nature of man rather than in his outward condition. And further, if it
+were possible to destroy the inequalities of life, they would soon again
+return, even with the most boundless liberty. Here common-sense is
+sacrificed to a captivating theory, and all the experiences of the world
+are ignored.</p>
+
+<p>This shows the folly of projecting any abstract theory, however true, to
+its remote and logical sequence. In the attempt we are almost certain to
+be landed in absurdity, so complicated are the relations of life,
+especially in governmental and political science. What doctrine of civil
+or political economy would be applicable in all ages and all countries
+and all conditions? Like the ascertained laws of science, or the great
+and accepted truths of the Bible, political axioms are to be considered
+in their relation with other truths equally accepted, or men are soon
+brought into a labyrinth of difficulties, and the strongest intellect is
+perplexed.</p>
+
+<p>And especially will this be the case when a theory under consideration
+is not a truth but an assumption. That was the trouble with Rousseau.
+His theories, disdainful of experience, however logically treated,
+became in their remotest sequence and application insulting to the human
+understanding, because they were often not only assumptions, but
+assumptions of what was not true, although very specious and flattering
+to certain classes.</p>
+
+<p>Rousseau confounded the great truth of the justice of moral and
+political equality with the absurd and unnatural demand for social and
+material equality. The great modern cry for equal opportunity for all is
+sound and Christian; but any attempt to guarantee individual success in
+using opportunity, to insure the lame and the lazy an equal rank in the
+race, must end in confusion and distraction.</p>
+
+<p>The evil of Rousseau's crude theories or false assumptions was
+practically seen in the acceptance of their logical conclusions, which
+led to anarchy, murder, pillage, and outrageous excess. The great danger
+attending his theories is that they are generally half-truths,--truth
+and falsehood blended. His writings are sophistical. It is difficult to
+separate the truth from the error, by reason of the marvellous felicity
+of his language. I do not underrate his genius or his style. He was
+doubtless an original thinker and a most brilliant and artistic writer;
+and by so much did he confuse people, even by the speciousness of his
+logic. There is nothing indefinite in what he advances. He is not a poet
+dealing in mysticisms, but a rhetorical philosopher, propounding
+startling theories, partly true and partly false, which he logically
+enforces with matchless eloquence.</p>
+
+<p>Probably the most influential of Rousseau's writings was &quot;The Social
+Contract,&quot;--the great textbook of the Revolution. In this famous
+treatise he advanced some important ideas which undoubtedly are based on
+ultimate truth, such as that the people are the source of power, that
+might does not make right, that slavery is an aggression on human
+rights; but with these ideal truths he combines the assertion that
+government is a contract between the governor and the governed. In a
+perfect state of society this may be the ideal; but society is not and
+never has been perfect, and certainly in all the early ages of the world
+governments were imposed upon people by the strong hand, irrespective of
+their will and wishes,--and these were the only governments which were
+fit and useful in that elder day. Governments, as a plain matter of
+fact, have generally arisen from circumstances and relations with which
+the people have had little to do. The Oriental monarchies were the
+gradual outgrowth of patriarchal tradition and successful military
+leadership, and in regard to them the people were never consulted at
+all. The Roman Empire was ruled without the consent of the governed.
+Feudal monarchies in Europe were based on the divine rights of kings.
+There was no state in Europe where a compact or social contract had been
+made or implied. Even later, when the French elected Napoleon, they
+chose a monarch because they feared anarchy, without making any
+stipulation. There were no contracting parties.</p>
+
+<p>The error of Rousseau was in assuming a social contract as a fact, and
+then reasoning upon the assumption. His premises are wrong, or at least
+they are nothing more than statements of what abstractly might be made
+to follow from the assumption that the people actually are the source of
+power,--a condition most desirable and in the last analysis correct,
+since even military despots use the power of the people in order to
+oppress the people, but which is practically true only in certain
+states. Yet, after all, when brought under the domain of law by the
+sturdy sense and utilitarian sagacity of the Anglo-Saxon race,
+Rousseau's doctrine of the sovereignty of the people is the great
+political motor of this century, in republics and monarchies alike.</p>
+
+<p>Again, Rousseau maintains that, whatever acquisitions an individual or
+a society may make, the right to this property must be always
+subordinate to the right which the community at large has over the
+possessions of all. Here is the germ of much of our present-day
+socialism. Whatever element of truth there may be in the theory that
+would regard land and capital, the means of production, as the joint
+possession of all the members of the community,--the basic doctrine of
+socialism,--any forcible attempt to distribute present results of
+individual production and accumulation would be unjust and dangerous to
+the last degree. In the case of the furious carrying out of this
+doctrine by the crazed French revolutionists, it led to outrageous
+confiscation, on the ground that all property belonged to the state, and
+therefore the representatives of the nation could do what they pleased
+with it. This shallow sophistry was accepted by the French National
+Convention when it swept away estates of nobles and clergy, not on the
+tenable ground that the owners were public enemies, but on the baseless
+pretext that their property belonged to the nation.</p>
+
+<p>From this sophistry about the rights of property, Rousseau advanced
+another of still worse tendency, which was that the general will is
+always in the right and constantly tends to the public good. The theory
+is inconsistent with itself. Light and truth do not come from the
+universal reason, but from the thoughts of great men stimulated into
+growth among the people. The teachers of the world belong to a small
+class. Society is in need of constant reforms, which are not suggested
+by the mass, but by a few philosophers or reformers,--the wise men who
+save cities.</p>
+
+<p>Rousseau further says that a whole people can never become corrupted,--a
+most barefaced assertion. Have not all nations suffered periods of
+corruption? This notion, that the whole people cannot err, opens the
+door for any license. It logically leads to that other idea, of the
+native majesty of man and the perfectibility of society, which this
+sophist boldly accepted. Rousseau thought that if society were released
+from all law and all restraint, the good impulses and good sense of the
+majority would produce a higher state of virtue and wisdom than what he
+saw around him, since majorities could do no wrong and the universal
+reason could not err. In this absurdity lay the fundamental principle of
+the French Revolution, so far as it was produced by the writings of
+philosophers. This doctrine was eagerly seized upon by the French
+people, maddened by generations of oppression, poverty, and degradation,
+because it appealed to the pride and vanity of the masses, at that time
+congregated bodies of ignorance and wickedness.</p>
+
+<p>Rousseau had an unbounded trust in human nature,--that it is good and
+wise, and will do the best thing if left to itself. But can anything be
+more antagonistic to all the history of the race? I doubt if Rousseau
+had any profound knowledge, or even really extensive reading. He was a
+dreamer, a theorist, a sentimentalist. He was the arch-priest of all
+sensationalism in the guise of logic. What more acceptable to the vile
+people of his age than the theory that in their collective capacity they
+could not err, that the universal reason was divine? What more logical
+than its culmination in that outrageous indecency, the worship of Reason
+in the person of a prostitute!</p>
+
+<p>Again, Rousseau's notion of the limitations of law and the prerogative
+of the people, carried out, would lead to the utter subversion of
+central authority, and reduce nations to an absolute democracy of small
+communities. They would divide and subdivide until society was resolved
+into its original elements. This idea existed among the early Greek
+states, when a state rarely comprised more than a single city or town or
+village, such as might be found among the tribes of North American
+Indians. The great political question in Ancient Greece was the autonomy
+of cities, which kept the whole land in constant wars and dissensions
+and quarrels and jealousies, and prevented that centralization of power
+which would have made Greece unconquerable and the mistress of the
+world. Our wholesome American system of autonomy in local affairs, with
+a common authority in matters affecting the general good, is organized
+liberty. But the ancient and outgrown idea of unregulated autonomy was
+revived by Rousseau; and though it could not be carried out by the
+French Revolutionists who accepted nearly all his theories, it led to
+the disintegration of France, and the multiplication of offices fatal to
+a healthy central power. Napoleon broke up all this in his centralized
+despotism, even if, to keep the Revolutionary sympathy, he retained the
+Departments which were substituted for the ancient Provinces.</p>
+
+<p>The extreme spirit of democratic liberty which is the characteristic of
+Rousseau's political philosophy led to the advocacy of the wildest
+doctrines of equality. He would prevent the accumulation of wealth, so
+that, to use his words, &quot;no one citizen should be rich enough to buy
+another, and no one so poor as to be obliged to sell himself.&quot; He would
+have neither rich people nor beggars. What could flow from such
+doctrines but discontent and unreasonable expectations among the poor,
+and a general fear and sense of insecurity among the rich? This &quot;state
+of nature,&quot; moreover, in his view, could be reached only by going
+backward and destroying all civilization,--and it was civilization which
+he ever decried,--a very pleasant doctrine to vagabonds, but likely to
+be treated with derisive mockery by all those who have something
+to conserve.</p>
+
+<p>Another and most dangerous principle which was advocated in the &quot;Social
+Contract&quot; was that religion has nothing to do with the affairs of civil
+and political life; that religious obligations do not bind a citizen;
+that Christianity, in fact, ignores all the great relations of man in
+society. This is distinct from the Puritan doctrine of the separation of
+the Church from the State, by which is simply meant that priests ought
+not to interfere in matters purely political, nor the government meddle
+with religious affairs,--a prime doctrine in a free State. But no body
+of men were ever more ardent defenders of the doctrine that all
+religious ideas ought to bear on the social and political fabric than
+the Puritans, They would break up slavery, if it derogated from the
+doctrine of the common brotherhood of man as declared by Christ; they
+would use their influence as Christians to root out all evil
+institutions and laws, and bring the sublime truths of the Master to
+bear on all the relations of life,--on citizens at the ballot-box, at
+the helm of power, and in legislative bodies. Christianity was to them
+the supreme law, with which all human laws must harmonize. But Rousseau
+would throw out Christianity altogether, as foreign to the duties and
+relations of both citizens and rulers, pretending that it ignored all
+connection with mundane affairs and had reference only to the salvation
+of the soul,--as if all Christ's teachings were not regulative of the
+springs of conduct between man and man, as indicative of the relations
+between man and God! Like Voltaire, Rousseau had the excuse of a corrupt
+ecclesiasticism to be broken into; but the Church and Christianity are
+two different things. This he did not see. No one was more impatient of
+all restraints than Rousseau; yet he maintained that men, if calling
+themselves Christians, must submit to every wrong and injustice, looking
+for a remedy in the future world,--thus pouring contempt on those who
+had no right, according to his view of their system, to complain of
+injustice or strive to rise above temporal evils. Christianity, he said,
+inculcates servitude and dependence; its spirit is favorable to tyrants;
+true Christians are formed to be slaves, and they know it, and never
+trouble themselves about conspiracies and insurrections, since this
+transitory world has no value in their eyes. He denied that Christians
+could be good soldiers,--a falsehood rebuked for us by the wars of the
+Reformation, by the troops of Cromwell and Gustavus Adolphus, by our
+American soldiers in the late Civil War. Thus he would throw away the
+greatest stimulus to heroism,--even the consciousness of duty, and
+devotion to great truths and interests.</p>
+
+<p>I cannot follow out the political ideas of Rousseau in his various other
+treatises, in which he prepared the way for revolution and for the
+excesses of the Reign of Terror. The truth is, Rousseau's feelings were
+vastly superior to his thinking. Whatever of good is to result from his
+influence will arise out of the impulse he gave toward the search for
+ideals that should embrace the many as well as the few in their
+benefits; when he himself attempted to apply this impulse to philosophic
+political thought, his unregulated mind went all astray.</p>
+
+<p>Let us now turn to consider a moment his doctrines pertaining to
+education, as brought out in his greatest and most unexceptionable work,
+his &quot;&Eacute;mile.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>In this remarkable book everything pertaining to human life appears to
+be discussed. The duties of parents, child-management, punishments,
+perception and the beginning of thinking; toys, games, catechisms, all
+passions and sentiments, religion, friendship, love, jealousy, pity; the
+means of happiness, the pleasures and profits of travel, the principles
+of virtue, of justice and liberty; language, books; the nature of man
+and of woman, the arts of conventional life, politeness, riches,
+poverty, society, marriage,--on all these and other questions he
+discourses with great sagacity and good sense, and with unrivalled
+beauty of expression, often rising to great eloquence, never dull or
+uninstructive, aiming to present virtue and vice in their true colors,
+inspiring exalted sentiments, and presenting happiness in simple
+pleasures and natural life.</p>
+
+<p>This treatise is both full and original. The author supposes an
+imaginary pupil, named &Eacute;mile, and he himself, intrusted with the care of
+the boy's education, attends him from his cradle to his manhood, assists
+him with the necessary directions for his general improvement, and
+finally introduces him to an amiable and unsophisticated girl, whose
+love he wins by his virtues and whom he honorably marries; so that,
+although a treatise, the work is invested with the fascination of
+a novel.</p>
+
+<p>In reading this book, which made so great a noise in Europe, with so
+much that is admirable I find but little to criticise, except three
+things, which mar its beauty and make it both dangerous and false, in
+which the unsoundness of Rousseau's mind and character--the strange
+paradoxes of his life in mixing up good with evil--are brought out, and
+that so forcibly that the author was hunted and persecuted from one part
+of Europe to another on account of it.</p>
+
+<p>The first is that he makes all natural impulses generous and virtuous,
+and man, therefore, naturally good instead of perverse,--thus throwing
+not only Christianity but experience entirely aside, and laying down
+maxims which, logically carried out, would make society perfect if only
+Nature were always consulted. This doctrine indirectly makes all the
+treasures of human experience useless, and untutored impulse the guide
+of life. It would break the restraints which civilization and a
+knowledge of life impose, and reduce man to a primitive state. In the
+advocacy of this subtle falsehood, Rousseau pours contempt on all the
+teachings of mankind,--on all schools and colleges, on all
+conventionalities and social laws, yea, on learning itself. He always
+stigmatizes scholars as pedants.</p>
+
+<p>Secondly, he would reduce woman to insignificance, having her rule by
+arts and small devices; making her the inferior of man, on whom she is
+dependent and to whose caprice she is bound to submit,--a sort of toy or
+slave, engrossed only with domestic duties, like the woman of antiquity.
+He would give new rights and liberties to man, but none to woman as
+man's equal,--thus keeping her in a dependence utterly irreconcilable
+with the bold freedom which he otherwise advocates. The dangerous
+tendency of his writings is somewhat checked, however, by the
+everlasting hostility with which women of character and force of
+will--such as they call &quot;strong-minded&quot;--will ever pursue him. He will
+be no oracle to them.</p>
+
+<p>But a still more marked defect weakens &quot;&Eacute;mile&quot; as one of the guide-books
+of the world, great as are its varied excellencies. The author
+undermines all faith in Christianity as a revelation, or as a means of
+man's communion with the Divine, for guidance, consolation, or
+inspiration. Nor does he support one of his moral or religious doctrines
+by an appeal to the Sacred Scriptures, which have been so deep a well of
+moral and spiritual wisdom for so many races of men. Practically, he is
+infidel and pagan, although he professes to admire some of the moral
+truths which he never applies to his system. He is a pure Theist or
+Deist, recognizing, like the old Greeks, no religion but that of Nature,
+and valuing no attainments but such as are suggested by Nature and
+Reason, which are the gods he worships from first to last in all his
+writings. The Confession of Faith by the Savoyard Vicar introduced into
+the fourth of the six &quot;Books&quot; of this work, which, having nothing to do
+with his main object, he unnecessarily drags in, is an artful and
+specious onslaught on all doctrines and facts revealed in the Bible,--on
+all miracles, all prophecies, and all supernatural revelation,--thus
+attacking Christianity in its most vital points, and making it of no
+more authority than Buddhism or Mohammedanism. Faith is utterly
+extinguished. A cold reason is all that he would leave to man,--no
+consolation but what the mind can arrive at unaided, no knowledge but
+what can be reached by original scientific investigation. He destroys
+not only all faith but all authority, by a low appeal to prejudices, and
+by vulgar wit such as the infidels of a former age used in their
+heartless and flippant controversies. I am not surprised at the
+hostility displayed even in France against him by both Catholics and
+Protestants. When he advocated his rights of man, from which Thomas
+Paine and Jefferson himself drew their maxims, he appealed to the
+self-love of the great mass of men ground down by feudal injustices and
+inequalities,--to the sense of justice, sophistically it is true, but in
+a way which commanded the respect of the intellect. When he assailed
+Christianity in its innermost fortresses, while professing to be a
+Christian, he incurred the indignation of all Christians and the
+contempt of all infidels,--for he added hypocrisy to scepticism, which
+they did not. Diderot, D'Alembert, and others were bold unbelievers, and
+did not veil their hostilities under a weak disguise. I have never read
+a writer who in spirit was more essentially pagan than Rousseau, or who
+wrote maxims more entirely antagonistic to Christianity.</p>
+
+<p>Aside from these great falsities,--the perfection of natural impulse,
+the inferiority of woman, and the worthlessness of Christianity,--as
+inculcated in this book, &quot;&Eacute;mile&quot; must certainly be ranked among the
+great classics of educational literature. With these expurgated it
+confirms the admirable methods inspired by its unmethodical suggestions.
+Noting the oppressiveness of the usual order of education through books
+and apparatus, he scorns all tradition, and cries, &quot;Let the child learn
+direct from Nature!&quot; Himself sensitive and humane, having suffered as a
+child from the tyranny of adults, he demands the tenderest care and
+sympathy for children, a patient study of their characteristics, a
+gentle, progressive leading of them to discover for themselves rather
+than a cramming of them with facts. The first moral education should be
+negative,--no preaching of virtue and truth, but shielding from vice and
+error. He says: &quot;Take the very reverse of the current practice, and you
+will almost always do right.&quot; This spirit, indeed, is the key to his
+entire plan. His ideas were those of the nineteenth, not the eighteenth
+century. Free play to childish vitality; punishment the natural
+inconvenience consequent on wrong-doing; the incitement of the desire to
+learn; the training of sense-activity rather than reflection, in early
+years; the acquirement of the power to learn rather than the
+acquisition of learning,--in short, the natural and scientifically
+progressive rather than the bookish and analytically literary method was
+the end and aim of &quot;&Eacute;mile.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Actually, this book accomplished little in its own time, chiefly because
+of its attack on established religion. Influentially, it reappeared in
+Pestalozzi, the first practical reformer of methods; in Froebel, the
+inventor of the Kindergarten; in Spencer, the great systematizer of the
+philosophy of development; and through these its spirit pervades the
+whole world of education at the present time.</p>
+
+<p>In Rousseau's &quot;New H&eacute;lo&iuml;se&quot; there are the same contradictions, the same
+paradoxes, the same unsoundness as in his other works, but it is more
+eloquent than any. It is a novel in which he paints all the aspirations
+of the soul, all its unrest, all its indefinite longings, its raptures,
+and its despair; in which he unfetters the imagination and sanctifies
+every impulse, not only of affection, but of passion. This novel was the
+pioneer of the sentimental romances which rapidly followed in France and
+England and Germany,--worse than our sensational literature, since the
+author veiled his immoralities by painting the transports of passion
+under the guise of love, which ever has its seat in the affections and
+is sustained only by respect. Here Rousseau was a disguised seducer, a
+poisoner of the moral sentiments, a foe to what is most sacred; and he
+was the more dangerous from his irresistible eloquence. His sophistries
+in regard to political and social rights may be met by reason, but not
+his attacks on the heart, with his imaginary sorrows and joys, his
+painting of raptures which can never be found. Here he undermines virtue
+as he had undermined truth and law. Here reprobation must become
+unqualified, and he appears one of the very worst men who ever exercised
+a commanding influence on a wicked and perverse generation.</p>
+
+<p>And this view of the man is rather confirmed by his own
+&quot;Confessions,&quot;--a singularly attractive book, yet from which, after the
+perusal of the long catalogue of his sorrows, joys, humiliations,
+triumphs, ecstasies and miseries, glories and shame, one rises with
+great disappointment, since no great truths, useful lessons, or even
+ennobling sentiments are impressed upon the mind to make us wiser or
+better. The &quot;Confessions&quot; are only a revelation of that sensibility,
+excessive and morbid, which reminds us of Byron and his misanthropic
+poetry,--showing a man defiant, proud, vain, unreasonable, unsatisfied,
+supremely worldly and egotistic. The first six Books are mere annals of
+sentimental debauchery; the last six, a kind of thermometer of
+friendship, containing an accurate account of kisses given and
+received, with slights, huffs, visits, quarrels, suspicions, and
+jealousies, interspersed with grand sentiments and profound views of
+life and human nature, yet all illustrative of the utter vanity of
+earth, and the failure of all mortal pleasures to satisfy the cravings
+of an immortal mind. The &quot;Confessions&quot; remind us of &quot;Manfred&quot; and
+&quot;Ecclesiastes&quot; blended,--exceedingly readable, and often
+unexceptionable, where virtue is commended and vice portrayed in its
+true light, but on the whole a book which no unsophisticated or
+inexperienced person can read without the consciousness of receiving a
+moral taint; a book in no respect leading to repose or lofty
+contemplation, or to submission to the evils of life, which it
+catalogues with amazing detail; a book not even conducive to innocent
+entertainment. It is the revelation of the inner life of a sensualist,
+an egotist, and a hypocrite, with a maudlin although genuine admiration
+for Nature and virtue and friendship and love. And the book reveals one
+of the most miserable and dissatisfied men that ever walked the earth,
+seeking peace in solitude and virtue, while yielding to unrestrained
+impulses; a man of morbid sensibility, ever yearning for happiness and
+pursuing it by impossible and impracticable paths. No sadder
+autobiography has ever been written. It is a lame and impotent attempt
+at self-justification, revealing on every page the writer's distrust of
+the virtues which he exalts, and of man whose reason and majesty he
+deifies,--even of the friendships in which he sought consolation, and of
+the retirements where he hoped for rest.</p>
+
+<p>The book reveals the man. The writer has no hope or repose or faith.
+Nothing pleases him long, and he is driven by his wild and undisciplined
+nature from one retreat to another, by persecution more fancied than
+real, until he dies, not without suspicion of having taken his own life.</p>
+
+<p>Such was Rousseau: the greatest literary genius of his age, the apostle
+of the reforms which were attempted in the French Revolution, and of
+ideas which still have a wondrous power,--some of which are grand and
+true, but more of which are sophistical, false, and dangerous. His
+theories are all plausible; and all are enforced with matchless
+eloquence of style, but not with eloquence of thought or true feeling,
+like the soaring flights of Pascal,--in every respect his superior in
+genius, because more profound and lofty. Rousseau's writings, like his
+life, are one vast contradiction, the blending of truth with error,--the
+truth valuable even when commonplace, the error subtle and
+dangerous,--so that his general influence must be considered bad
+wherever man is weak or credulous or inexperienced or perverse. I wish
+I could speak better of a man whom so many honestly admire, and whose
+influence has been so marked during the last hundred years, and will be
+equally great for a hundred years to come; a man from whom Madame de
+Sta&euml;l, Jefferson, and Lamartine drew so much of their inspiration, whose
+ideas about childhood have so helpfully transformed the educational
+methods of our own time. But I must speak my honest conviction, from the
+light I have, at the same time hoping that fuller light may justify more
+leniency to one of the great oracles whose doctrines are still cherished
+by many of the guides of modern thought.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><hr style="width: 35%;"><br><br>
+<h2><a name="SIR_WALTER_SCOTT."></a>SIR WALTER SCOTT.</h2>
+
+<hr style="width: 25%;">
+
+<p>1771-1832.</p>
+
+<p>THE MODERN NOVEL.</p>
+
+<p>In the early decades of the nineteenth century the two most prominent
+figures in English literature were Sir Walter Scott and Lord Byron. They
+are still read and admired, especially Scott; but it is not easy to
+understand the enormous popularity of these two men in their own day.
+Their busts or pictures were in every cultivated family and in almost
+every shop-window. Everybody was familiar with the lineaments of their
+countenances, and even with every peculiarity of their dress. Who did
+not know the shape of the Byronic collar and the rough, plaided form of
+&quot;the Wizard of the North&quot;? Who could not repeat the most famous passages
+in the writings of these two authors?</p>
+
+<p>Is it so now? If not, what a commentary might be written on human fame!
+How transitory are the judgments of men in regard to every one whom
+fashion stamps! The verdict of critics is that only some half-dozen
+authors are now read with the interest and glow which their works called
+out a hundred years ago. Even the novels of Sir Walter, although to be
+found in every library, kindle but little enthusiasm compared with that
+excited by the masterpieces of Thackeray, Dickens, George Eliot, and of
+the favorites of the passing day. Why is this? Will these later lights
+also cease to burn? Will they too pass away? Is this age so much
+advanced that what pleased our grandfathers and grandmothers has no
+charm for us, but is often &quot;flat, stale, and unprofitable,&quot;--at least,
+decidedly uninteresting?</p>
+
+<p>I am inclined to the opinion that only a very small part of any man's
+writings is really immortal. Take out the &quot;Elegy in a Country
+Churchyard,&quot; and how much is left of Gray for other generations to
+admire? And so of Goldsmith: besides the &quot;Vicar of Wakefield&quot; and the
+&quot;Deserted Village,&quot; there is little in his writings that is likely to
+prove immortal. Johnson wrote but little poetry that is now generally
+valued. Certainly his dictionary, his greatest work, is not immortal,
+and is scarcely a standard. Indeed, we have outgrown nearly everything
+which was prized so highly a century ago, not only in poetry and
+fiction, but in philosophy, theology, and science. Perhaps that is least
+permanent which once was regarded as most certain.</p>
+
+<p>If, then, the poetry and novels of Sir Walter Scott are not so much
+read or admired as they once were, we only say that he is no exception
+to the rule. I have in mind but two authors in the whole range of
+English literature that are read and prized as much to-day as they were
+two hundred years ago. And if this is true, what shall we say of
+rhetoricians like Macaulay, of critics like Carlyle, of theologians like
+Jonathan Edwards, of historians like Hume and Guizot, and of many other
+great men of whom it has been the fashion to say that their works are
+lasting as the language in which they were written? Some few books will
+doubtless live, but, alas, how few! Where now are the eight hundred
+thousand in the Alexandrian library, which Ptolemy collected with so
+great care,--what, even, their titles? Where are the writings of Varro,
+said to have been the most learned man of all antiquity?</p>
+
+<p>I make these introductory remarks to show how shallow is the criticism
+passed upon a novelist or poet like Scott, in that he is not now so
+popular or so much read as he was in his own day. It is the fate of most
+great writers,--the Augustines, the Voltaires, the Bayles of the world.
+It is enough to say that they were lauded and valued in their time,
+since this is about all we can say of most of the works supposed to be
+immortal. But when we remember the enthusiasm with which the novels of
+Scott were at first received, the great sums of money which were paid
+for them, and the honors he received from them, he may well claim a
+renown and a popularity such as no other literary man ever enjoyed. His
+eyes beheld the glory of a great name; his ears rang with the plaudits
+of idolaters; he had the consciousness of doing good work, universally
+acknowledged and gratefully remembered. Scarcely any other novelist ever
+created so much healthy pleasure combined with so much sound
+instruction. And, further, he left behind him a reproachless name,
+having fewer personal defects than any literary man of his time, being
+everywhere beloved, esteemed, and almost worshipped; whom distant
+travellers came to see,--sure of kind and gracious treatment; a hero in
+their eyes to the last, with no drawbacks such as marred the fame of
+Byron or of Burns. That so great a genius as Scott is fading in the
+minds of this generation may be not without comfort to those honest and
+hard-working men in every walk of human life who can say: We too were
+useful in our day, and had our share of honors and rewards,--all perhaps
+that we deserved, or even more. What if we are forgotten, as most men
+are destined to be? To live in the mouths of men is not the greatest
+thing or the best. &quot;Act well your part, there all the honor lies,&quot; for
+life after all is a drama or a stage. The supremest happiness is not in
+being praised; it is in the consciousness of doing right and being
+possessed with the power of goodness.</p>
+
+<p>When, however, a man has been seated on such a lofty pinnacle as was Sir
+Walter Scott, we wish to know something of his personal traits, and the
+steps by which he advanced to fame. Was he overrated, as most famous men
+have been? What is the niche he will probably occupy in the temple of
+literary fame? What are the characteristics of his productions? What
+gave him his prodigious and extraordinary popularity? Was he a born
+genius, like Byron and Burns, or was he merely a most industrious
+worker, aided by fortunate circumstances and the caprices of fashion?
+What were the intellectual forces of his day, and how did he come to be
+counted among them?</p>
+
+<p>All these points it is difficult to answer satisfactorily, but some
+light may be shed upon them. The bulky volumes of Lockhart's Biography
+constitute a mine of information about Scott, but are now heavy reading,
+without much vivacity,--affording a strong contrast to Boswell's Life of
+Johnson, which concealed nothing that we would like to know. A
+son-in-law is not likely to be a dispassionate biographer, especially
+when family pride and interests restrain him. On the other hand, it is
+not wise for a biographer to be too candid, and belittle his hero by the
+enumeration of foibles not consistent with the general tenor of the
+man's life. Lockhart's knowledge of his subject and his literary skill
+have given us much; and, with Scott's own letters and the critical
+notice of his contemporaries, both the man and his works may be fairly
+estimated.</p>
+
+<p>Most biographers aim to make the birth and parentage of their heroes as
+respectable as possible. Of authors who are &quot;nobly born&quot; there are very
+few; most English and Scotch literary men are descended from ancestors
+of the middle class,--lawyers, clergymen, physicians, small landed
+proprietors, merchants, and so on,--who were able to give their sons an
+education in the universities. Sir Walter Scott traced his descent to an
+ancient Scottish chief. His grandfather, Robert Scott, was bred to the
+sea, but, being ship-wrecked near Dundee, he became a farmer, and was
+active in the cattle-trade. Scott's father was a Writer to the Signet in
+Edinburgh,--what would be called in England a solicitor,--a thriving,
+respectable man, having a large and lucrative legal practice, and being
+highly esteemed for his industry and integrity; a zealous Presbyterian,
+formal and precise in manner, strict in the observance of the Sabbath,
+and of all that he considered to be right. His wife, Anne Rutherford,
+was the daughter of a professor of medicine in the University of
+Edinburgh,--a lady of rather better education than the average of her
+time; a mother whom Sir Walter remembered with great tenderness, and to
+whose ample memory and power of graphic description he owed much of his
+own skill in reproducing the past. Twelve children were the offspring of
+this marriage, although only five survived very early youth.</p>
+
+<p>Walter, the ninth child, was born on the 15th of August, 1771, and when
+quite young, in consequence of a fever, lost for a time the use of his
+right leg. By the advice of his grandfather, Dr. Rutherford, he was sent
+into the country for his health. As his lameness continued, he was, at
+the age of four, removed to Bath, going to London by sea. Bath was then
+a noted resort, and its waters were supposed to cure everything. Here
+little Walter remained a year under the care of his aunt, when he
+returned to Edinburgh, to his father's house in George Square, which was
+his residence until his marriage, with occasional visits to the county
+seat of his maternal grandfather. He completely regained his health,
+although he was always lame.</p>
+
+<p>From the autobiography which Scott began but did not complete, it would
+appear that his lameness and solitary habits were favorable to reading;
+that even as a child he was greatly excited by tales and poems of
+adventure; and that as a youth he devoured everything he could find
+pertaining to early Scottish poetry and romance, of which he was
+passionately fond. He was also peculiarly susceptible to the beauties of
+Scottish scenery, being thus led to enjoy the country and its sports at
+a much earlier age than is common with boys,--which love was never lost,
+but grew with his advancing years. Among his fellows he was a hearty
+player, a forward fighter in boyish &quot;bickers,&quot; and a teller of tales
+that delighted his comrades. He was sweet-tempered, merry, generous, and
+well-beloved, yet peremptory and pertinacious in pursuit of his
+own ideas.</p>
+
+<p>In 1779, Walter was sent to the High School in Edinburgh; but his
+progress here was by no means remarkable, although he laid a good
+foundation for the acquisition of the Latin language. He also had a
+tutor at home, and from him learned the rudiments of French. With a head
+all on fire for chivalry and Scottish ballads, he admired the old Tory
+cavaliers and hated the Roundheads and Presbyterians. In three years he
+had become fairly familiar with Caesar, Livy, Sallust, Virgil, Horace,
+and Terence. He also distinguished himself by making Latin verses. From
+the High School he entered the University of Edinburgh, very well
+grounded in French and Latin. For Greek and mathematics he had an
+aversion, but made up for this deficiency by considerable acquisitions
+in English literature. He was delighted with both Ossian and Spenser,
+and could repeat the &quot;Fa&euml;rie Queene&quot; by heart. His memory, like that of
+Macaulay, was remarkable. What delighted him more than Spenser were
+Hoole's translations of Tasso and Ariosto (later he learned Italian, and
+read these in the original), and Percy's &quot;Reliques of Ancient Poetry.&quot;
+At college he also read the best novels of the day, especially the works
+of Richardson, Fielding, and Smollett. He made respectable progress in
+philosophy under the teaching of the celebrated Dugald Stewart and
+Professor Bruce, and in history under Lord Woodhouselee. On the whole,
+he was not a remarkable boy, except for his notable memory (which,
+however, kept only what pleased him), and his very decided bent toward
+the poetic and chivalric in history, life, and literature.</p>
+
+<p>Walter was trained by his father to the law, and on leaving college he
+served the ordinary apprenticeship of five years in his father's office
+and attendance upon the law classes in the University; but the drudgery
+of the law was irksome to him. When the time came to select his
+profession, as a Writer to the Signet or an advocate, he preferred the
+latter; although success here was more uncertain than as a solicitor. Up
+to the time of his admission to the bar he had read an enormous number
+of books, in a desultory way, and made many friends, some of whom
+afterwards became distinguished. His greatest pleasures were in long
+walks in the country with chosen companions. His love of Nature amounted
+to a passion, and in his long rambles he acquired not only vigorous
+health, but the capacity of undergoing great fatigue.</p>
+
+<p>Scott's autobiography closes with his admission to the bar. From his own
+account his early career had not been particularly promising, although
+he was neither idle nor immoral. He was fond of convivial pleasures, but
+ever had uncommon self-control. All his instructors were gentlemanly,
+and he had access to the best society in Edinburgh, when that city was
+noted for its number of distinguished men in literature and in the
+different professions. His most intimate friends were John Irving, Sir
+Archibald Campbell, the Earl of Dalhousie, and Adam Ferguson, with whom
+he made excursions to the Highlands, and to ruined castles and abbeys of
+historic interest,--following with tireless search the new trail of an
+old Border ballad, or taking a thirty-mile walk to clear up some local
+legend of battle, foray, or historic event. In all these antiquarian
+raids the young fellows mingled freely with the people, and tramped the
+counties round about in most hilarious mood, by no means escaping the
+habits of the day in tavern sprees and drinking-bouts,--although Scott's
+companions testify to his temperate indulgence.</p>
+
+<p>The young lawyer was, indeed, unwittingly preparing for his mission to
+paint Scottish scenery so vividly, and Scottish character so charmingly,
+that he may almost be said to have created a new country which
+succeeding generations delight to visit. No man was ever a greater
+benefactor to Scotland, whose glories and beauties he was the first to
+reveal, showing how the most thrifty, practical, and parsimonious people
+may be at the same time the most poetic. Here Burns and he go hand in
+hand, although as a poet Scott declared that he was not to be named in
+the same day with the most unfortunate man of genius that his country
+and his century produced. How singular that in all worldly matters the
+greater genius should have been a failure, while he, who as a born poet
+was the lesser light, should have been the greatest popular success of
+which Scotland can boast! And yet there is something almost as pathetic
+and tragical in the career of the man who worked himself to death, as in
+that of the man who drank himself to death. The most supremely fortunate
+writer of his day came to a mournful end, notwithstanding his
+unparalleled honors and his magnificent rewards.</p>
+
+<p>At the time Scott was admitted to the bar he was not, of course, aware
+of his great original creative powers, nor could he have had very
+sanguine expectations of a brilliant career. The profession he had
+chosen was not congenial with his habits or his genius, and hence as a
+lawyer he was not a success. And yet he was not a failure, for he had
+the respect of some of the finest minds in Edinburgh, and at once gained
+as an advocate enough to support himself respectably among aristocratic
+people,--aided no doubt by his father who, as a prosperous Writer to the
+Signet, threw business into his hands. Amid his practice at the courts
+he found time to visit some of the most interesting spots in Scotland,
+and he had money enough to gratify his tastes. He was a thriving rather
+than a prosperous lawyer; that is to say, he earned his living.</p>
+
+<p>But Scott was too much absorbed in literary studies and in writing
+ballads, to give to his numerous friends the hope of a distinguished
+legal career. No man can serve two masters. &quot;His heart&quot; was &quot;in the
+Highlands a-chasing the deer,&quot; or ransacking distant villages for
+antiquarian lore, or collecting ancient Scottish minstrelsy, or visiting
+moss-covered and ivy-clad ruins, famous before John Knox swept
+monasteries and nunneries away as cages of unclean birds; but most of
+all was he interested in the feuds between the Lowland and Highland
+chieftains, and in the contest between Roundheads and Cavaliers when
+Scotland lost her political independence. He did, however, find much in
+Scotch law to enrich his mind, with entanglements and antiquarian
+records, as well as the humors and tragedies of the courts; and of this
+his writings show many traces.</p>
+
+<p>No young lawyer ever had more efficient friends than Walter Scott. And
+richly he deserved them, for he was generous, companionable, loyal, a
+brilliant story-teller, a good hunter and sportsman, bright, cheerful,
+and witty, doubtless one of the most interesting young men in his
+beautiful city; modest, too, and unpretentious, yet proud, claiming
+nothing that nothing might be denied him, a favorite in the most select
+circles. His most striking peculiarity was his good sense, keeping him
+from all exaggerations, which were always offensive to him. He was a
+Tory, indeed; but no aristocrat ever had a more genial humanity, taking
+pleasure in any society where he could learn anything. His appetite was
+so healthy, from his rural sports and pedestrian feats, that he could
+dine equally well on a broiled haddock or a saddle of venison, although
+from the minuteness of his descriptions of Scottish banquets one might
+infer that he had great appreciation of the pleasures of the table.</p>
+
+<p>It is not easy to tell when Scott began to write poetry, but probably
+when he was quite young. He wrote for the pleasure of it, without any
+idea of devoting his life to literature. Writing ballads was the solace
+of his leisure hours. His acquaintance with Francis, Lord Jeffrey began
+in 1791, at a club, where he read an essay on ballads which so much
+interested the future critic that he sought an introduction to its
+author, and the acquaintance thus begun between these two young men,
+both of whom unconsciously stood on the threshold of great careers,
+ripened into friendship. This happened before Scott was called to the
+bar in 1792. It was two years afterwards that he produced a poem which
+took by surprise a literary friend, Miss Cranstoun, and caused her to
+exclaim, &quot;Upon my word, Walter Scott is going to turn out a poet,
+something of a cross between Burns and Gray!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>In 1795 Scott was appointed one of the Curators of the Advocates'
+Library,--a compliment bestowed only on those members of the bar known
+to have a zeal in literary affairs; but I do not read that he published
+anything until 1796, when appeared his translation from the German of
+B&uuml;rger's ballads, &quot;The Wild Huntsman&quot; and &quot;Lenore.&quot; This called out high
+commendation from Dugald Stewart, the famous professor of moral
+philosophy in the University of Edinburgh, and from other men of note,
+but obtained no recognition in England.</p>
+
+<p>It was during one of his rambles with his friend Ferguson to the English
+Lakes in 1797 that Scott met Miss Charlotte Margaret Carpenter, or
+Charpentier, a young French lady of notable beauty and lovely character.
+She had an income of about &pound;200 a year, which, added to his earnings as
+an advocate, then about &pound;150, encouraged him to offer to her his hand.
+For a young couple just starting in life &pound;350 was an independence. The
+engagement met with no opposition from the lady's family; and in
+December of 1797 Scott was married, and took a modest house in Castle
+Street, being then twenty-six years of age. The marriage turned out to
+be a happy one, although <i>convenance</i> had something to do with it.</p>
+
+<p>Of course, so healthy and romantic a nature as Scott's had not passed
+through the susceptible time of youth without a love affair. From so
+small a circumstance as the lending of his umbrella to a young lady
+(Margaret, the beautiful daughter of Sir John Belches) he enjoyed five
+years of affection and of what seems to have been a reasonable hope,
+which, however, was finally ended by the young lady's marrying Mr.
+William Forbes, a well-to-do banker, and later one of Scott's best
+friends. &quot;Three years of dreaming and two years of waking,&quot; Scott calls
+it in one of his diaries, thirty years later; and his own marriage
+followed within a year after that of his lost love.</p>
+
+<p>With an income sufficient only for the necessities of life, as a married
+man in society Scott had not much to spare for expensive dinners,
+although given to hospitality. What money he could save was spent for
+books and travel. At twenty-six, he had visited what was most
+interesting in Scotland, either in scenery or historical associations,
+and some parts of England, especially the Cumberland Lakes. He took a
+cottage at Lasswade, near Edinburgh, and began there the fascinating
+pursuit of tree-planting and &quot;place&quot;-making. His vacations when the
+Courts were not in session were spent in excursions to mountain scenery
+and those retired villages where he could pick up antiquarian lore,
+particularly old Border ballads, heroic traditions of the times of
+chivalry, and of the conflicts of Scottish chieftains. Concerning these
+no man in Scotland knew so much as he, his knowledge furnishing the
+foundation alike of his lays and his romances. His enthusiasm for these
+scenic and historic interests was unquenchable,--a source of perpetual
+enjoyment, which made him a most acceptable visitor wherever he chose to
+go, both among antiquaries and literary men, and ladies of rank
+and fashion.</p>
+
+<p>In March, 1799, Mr. and Mrs. Scott visited London, where they were
+introduced to many distinguished literary men. On their return to
+Edinburgh, the office of sheriff depute of Selkirkshire having become
+vacant, worth &pound;300 a year, Scott received the appointment, which
+increased his income to about &pound;700. Although his labors were light, the
+office entailed the necessity of living in that county a few months in
+each year. It was a pastoral, quiet, peaceful part of the country,
+belonging to the Duke of Buccleuch, his friend and patron. His published
+translation in this year of Goethe's &quot;Goetz of Berlichingen&quot; added to
+his growing reputation, and led him on towards his career.</p>
+
+<p>With a secure and settled income, Scott now meditated a literary life. A
+hundred years ago such a life was impossible without independent means,
+if a man would mingle in society and live conventionally, and what was
+called respectably. Even Burns had to accept a public office, although
+it was a humble one, and far from lucrative; but it gave him what poetry
+could not,--his daily bread. Hogg, peasant-poet of the Ettrick forest,
+was supported in all his earlier years by tending sheep and borrowing
+money from his friends.</p>
+
+<p>The first genuine literary adventure of Scott was his collection of a
+&quot;Scottish Minstrelsy,&quot; printed for him by James Ballantyne, a former
+schoolfellow, who had been encouraged by Scott to open a shop in
+Edinburgh. The preparation of this labor of love occupied the editor a
+year, assisted by John Leyden, a man of great promise, who died in India
+in 1811, having made a mark as an Orientalist. About this time began
+Scott's memorable friendship with George Ellis, the most discriminating
+and useful of all his literary friends. In the same year he made the
+acquaintance of Thomas Campbell, the poet, who had already achieved fame
+by his &quot;Pleasures of Hope.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>It was in 1802 that the first and second volumes of the &quot;Minstrelsy&quot;
+appeared, in an edition of eight hundred copies, Scott's share of the
+profits amounting to &pound;78 10 <i>s</i>., which did not pay him for the actual
+expenditure in the collection of his materials. The historical notes
+with which he elucidated the value of the ancient ballads, and the
+freshness and vigor of those which he himself wrote for the collection,
+secured warm commendations from Ellis, Ritson, and other friends, and
+the whole edition was sold; yet the work did not bring him wide fame.
+The third and last volume was issued in 1803.</p>
+
+<p>The work is full of Scott's best characteristics,--wide historical
+knowledge, wonderful industry, humor, pathos, and a sympathetic
+understanding of life--that of the peasant as well as the knight--such
+as seizes the imagination. Lockhart quotes a passage of Scott's own
+self-criticism: &quot;I am sensible that if there be anything good about my
+poetry, or prose either, it is <i>a hurried frankness of composition</i>,
+which pleases soldiers, sailors, and young people of bold and active
+dispositions.&quot; His ability to &quot;toil terribly&quot; in accumulating choice
+material, and then, fusing it in his own spirit, to throw it forth among
+men with this &quot;hurried frankness&quot; that stirs the blood, was the secret
+of his power.</p>
+
+<p>Scott did not become famous, however, until his first original poem
+appeared,--&quot;The Lay of the Last Minstrel,&quot; printed by Ballantyne in
+1805, and published by Longman of London, and Constable of Edinburgh. It
+was a great success; nearly fifty thousand copies were sold in Great
+Britain alone by 1830. For the first edition of seven hundred and fifty
+copies quarto, Scott received &pound;169 6 s., and then sold the copyright
+for &pound;500.</p>
+
+<p>In the meantime, a rich uncle died without children, and Scott's share
+of the property enabled him, in 1804, to rent from his cousin,
+Major-General Sir James Russell, the pretty property called
+Ashestiel,--a cottage and farm on the banks of the Tweed, altogether a
+beautiful place, where he lived when discharging his duties of sheriff
+of Selkirkshire. He has celebrated the charms of Ashestiel in the canto
+introduction to &quot;Marmion.&quot; His income at this time amounted to about
+&pound;1000 a year, which gave him a position among the squires of the
+neighborhood, complete independence, and leisure to cultivate his taste.
+His fortune was now made: with poetic fame besides, and powerful
+friends, he was a man every way to be envied.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;The Lay of the Last Minstrel&quot; placed Scott among the three great poets
+of Scotland, for originality and beauty of rhyme. It is not marked by
+pathos or by philosophical reflections. It is a purely descriptive poem
+of great vivacity and vividness, easy to read, and true to nature. It is
+a tale of chivalry, and is to poetry what Froissart's &quot;Chronicles&quot; are
+to history. Nothing exactly like it had before appeared in English
+literature. It appealed to all people of romantic tastes, and was
+reproachless from a moral point of view. It was a book for a lady's
+bower, full of chivalric sentiments and stirring incidents, and of
+unflagging interest from beginning to end,--partly warlike and partly
+monastic, describing the adventures of knights and monks. It deals with
+wizards, harpers, dwarfs, priests, warriors, and noble dames. It sings
+of love and wassailings, of gentle ladies' tears, of castles and festal
+halls, of pennons and lances,--</p>
+
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&quot;Of ancient deeds, so long forgot,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Of feuds whose memory was not,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Of forests now laid waste and bare,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Of towers which harbor now the hare.&quot;<br>
+
+<p>In &quot;The Lay of the Last Minstrel&quot; there is at least one immortal stanza
+which would redeem the poem even if otherwise mediocre. How few poets
+can claim as much as this! Very few poems live except for some splendid
+passages which cannot be forgotten, and which give fame. I know of
+nothing, even in Burns, finer than the following lines:--</p>
+
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&quot;Breathes there the man, with soul so dead,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Who never to himself hath said,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; This is my own, my native land!<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; As home his footsteps he hath turned<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; From wandering on a foreign strand?<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; If such there breathe, go, mark him well!<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; For him no minstrel raptures swell;<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; High though his titles, proud his name,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Boundless his wealth as wish can claim,--<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Despite those titles, power, and pelf,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The wretch, concentred all in self,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Living shall forfeit fair renown,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And, doubly dying, shall go down<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; To the vile dust from whence he sprung,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Unwept, unhonored, and unsung.&quot;<br>
+
+<p>The favor with which &quot;The Lay of the Last Minstrel&quot; was received,
+greater than that of any narrative poem of equal length which had
+appeared for two generations, even since Dryden's day, naturally brought
+great commendation from Jeffrey, the keenest critic of the age, in the
+famous magazine of which he was the editor. The Edinburgh Review had
+been started only in 1802 by three young men of genius,--Jeffrey,
+Brougham, and Sydney Smith,--and had already attained great popularity,
+but not such marvellous influence as it wielded ten years afterwards,
+when nine thousand copies were published every three months, and at
+such a price as gave to its contributors a splendid remuneration, and to
+its editors absolute critical independence. The only objection to this
+powerful periodical was the severity of its criticisms, which often also
+were unjust. It seemed to be the intent of the reviewers to demolish
+everything that was not of extraordinary merit. Fierce attacks are not
+criticism. The articles in the Edinburgh Review were of a different sort
+from the polished and candid literary dissections which made Ste.-Beuve
+so justly celebrated. In the beginning of the century, however, these
+savage attacks were all the fashion and to be expected; yet they stung
+authors almost to madness, as in the case of the review of Byron's early
+poetry. Literary courtesy did not exist. Justice gave place generally to
+ridicule or sarcasm. The Edinburgh Review was a terror to all
+pretenders, and often to men of real merit. But it was published when
+most judges were cruel and severe, even in the halls of justice.</p>
+
+<p>The friendship between Scott and Jeffrey had been very close for ten
+years before the inception of the Edinburgh Review; and although Scott
+was (perhaps growing out of his love for antiquarian researches and
+admiration of the things that had been) an inveterate conservative and
+Tory, while the new Review was slashingly liberal and progressive, he
+was drawn in by friendship and literary interest to be a frequent
+contributor during its first three or four years. The politics of the
+Edinburgh Review, however, and the establishment in 1808 of the
+conservative Quarterly Review, caused a gradual cessation of this
+literary connection, without marring the friendly relations between
+the two men.</p>
+
+<p>About this time began Scott's friendship with Wordsworth, for whom he
+had great respect. Indeed, his modesty led him to prefer everybody's
+good poetry to his own. He felt himself inferior not only to Burns, but
+also to Wordsworth and Campbell and Coleridge and Byron,--as in many
+respects he undoubtedly was; but it requires in an author discernment
+and humility of a rare kind, to make him capable of such a
+discrimination.</p>
+
+<p>More important to him than any literary friendship was his partnership
+with James Ballantyne, the printer, whom he had known from his youth.
+This in the end proved unfortunate, and nearly ruined him; for
+Ballantyne, though an accomplished man and a fine printer, as well as
+enterprising and sensible, was not a safe business man, being
+over-sanguine. For a time, however, this partnership, which was kept
+secret, was an advantage to both parties, although Scott embarked in the
+enterprise his whole available capital, about &pound;5000. In connection with
+the publishing business, soon added to the printing, with James
+Ballantyne's brother John as figure-head of the concern,--a talented but
+dissipated and reckless &quot;good fellow,&quot; with no more head for business
+than either James Ballantyne or Scott,--the association bound Scott hand
+and foot for twenty years, and prompted him to adventurous undertakings.
+But it must be said that the Ballantynes always deferred to him, having
+for him a sentiment little short of veneration. One of the first results
+of this partnership was an eighteen-volume edition of Dryden's poems,
+with a Life, which must have been to Scott little more than drudgery. He
+was well paid for his work, although it added but little to his fame,
+except for intelligent literary industry.</p>
+
+<p>Before the Dryden, however, in the same year, 1808, appeared the poem of
+&quot;Marmion: A Tale of Flodden Field,&quot; which was received by the public
+with great avidity, and unbounded delight. Jeffrey wrote a chilling
+review, for which Scott with difficulty forgave him, since with all his
+humility and amiability he could not bear unfriendly or severe
+criticism.</p>
+
+<p>In a letter to Joanna Baillie, Scott makes some very sensible remarks as
+to the incapability of such a man as Jeffrey appreciating a work of the
+imagination, distinguished as he was:--</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I really have often told him that I think he wants the taste for
+poetry which is essentially necessary to enjoy, and of course to
+criticize with justice. He is learned with the most learned in its
+canons and laws, skilled in its modulations, and an excellent judge of
+the justice of the sentiments which it conveys; but he wants that
+enthusiastic feeling which, like sunshine upon a landscape, lights up
+every beauty, and palliates if it cannot hide every defect. To offer a
+poem of imagination to a man whose whole life and study have been to
+acquire a stoical indifference towards enthusiasm of every kind, would
+be the last, as it would surely be the silliest, action of my life.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>As stated above, it was about this time that Scott broke off his
+connection with the Edinburgh Review. Perhaps that was what Jeffrey
+wished, since the Review became thenceforth more intensely partisan, and
+Scott's Toryism was not what was wanted.</p>
+
+<p>It is fair to add that in 1810 Jeffrey sent Scott advance proofs of his
+critique on &quot;The Lady of the Lake,&quot; with a frank and friendly letter in
+which he says:--</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I am now sensible that there were needless asperities in my review of
+'Marmion,' and from the hurry in which I have been forced to write, I
+dare say there may be some here also.... I am sincerely proud both of
+your genius and of your glory, and I value your friendship more highly
+than most either of my literary or political opinions.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Southey, Ellis, and Wordsworth, Erskine, Heber, and other friends wrote
+congratulatory letters about &quot;Marmion,&quot; with slight allusions to minor
+blemishes. Lockhart thought that it was on the whole the greatest of
+Scott's poems, in strength and boldness. Most critics regarded the long
+introduction to each canto as a defect, since it broke the continuity of
+the narrative; but it may at least be said that these preludes give an
+interesting insight into the author's moods and views. The opinions of
+literary men of course differ as to the relative excellence of the
+different poems. &quot;Marmion&quot; certainly had great merit, and added to the
+fame of the author. There is here more variety of metre than in his
+other poems, and also some passages of such beauty as to make the poem
+immortal,--like the death of Marmion, and those familiar lines in
+reference to Clara's constancy:--</p>
+
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&quot;O woman! in our hours of ease,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Uncertain, coy, and hard to please,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And variable as the shade<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; By the light, quivering aspen made,--<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; When pain and anguish wring the brow,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; A ministering angel thou.&quot;<br>
+
+<p>The sale of &quot;Marmion&quot; ultimately reached fifty thousand copies in Great
+Britain. The poem was originally published in a luxurious quarto at
+thirty-one and a-half shillings. Besides one thousand guineas in
+advance, half the profits went to Scott, and must have reached several
+thousand pounds,--a great sale, when we remember that it was confined to
+libraries and people of wealth. In America, the poem was sold for two or
+three shillings,--less than one-tenth of what it cost the English
+reader. A successful poem or novel in England is more remunerative to
+the author, from the high price at which it is published, than in the
+United States, where prices are lower and royalties rarely exceed ten
+per cent. It must be borne in mind, however, that in England editions
+are ordinarily very small, sometimes consisting of not more than two
+hundred and fifty copies. The first edition of &quot;Marmion&quot; was only of two
+thousand copies. The largest edition published was in 1811, of five
+thousand copies octavo; but even this did not circulate largely among
+the people. The popularity of Scott in England was confined chiefly to
+the upper classes, at least until the copyright of his books had
+expired. The booksellers were not slow in availing themselves of Scott's
+popularity. They employed him to edit an edition of Swift for &pound;1500, and
+tried to induce him to edit a general edition of English poets. That
+scheme was abandoned in consequence of a disagreement between Scott and
+Murray, the London publisher, as to the selection of poets.</p>
+
+<p>I think the quarrels of authors eighty or one hundred years ago with
+their publishers were more frequent than they are in these times. We
+read of a long alienation between Scott and Constable, the publisher,
+who enjoyed a sort of monopoly of the poet's contributions to
+literature. Constable soon after found a great rival in Murray, who was
+at this time an obscure London bookseller in Fleet Street. Both these
+great publishers were remarkable for sagacity, and were bold in their
+ventures. The foundation of Constable's wealth was laid when he was
+publishing the Edinburgh Review. In 1809, Murray started the Quarterly
+Review, its great political rival, with the aid of Scott, who wrote many
+of its most valuable articles; and William Gilford, satirist and critic,
+became its first editor. Growing out of the quarrel between Scott and
+Constable was the establishment of John Ballantyne &amp; Co. as publishers
+and booksellers in Edinburgh.</p>
+
+<p>Shortly after the establishment of the Quarterly Review as a Tory
+journal, Scott began his third great poem, &quot;The Lady of the Lake,&quot; which
+was published in 1810, in all the majesty of a quarto, at the price of
+two guineas a copy. He received for it two thousand guineas. The first
+edition of two thousand copies disappeared at once, and was followed the
+same year by four octavo editions. In a few months the sale reached
+twenty thousand copies. The poem received great commendation both from
+the Quarterly and the Edinburgh Review.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Ellis, in his article in the Quarterly, thus wrote:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;There is nothing in Scott of the severe majesty of Milton, or of the
+terse composition of Pope, or the elaborate elegance of Campbell, or the
+flowing and redundant diction of Southey; but there is a medley of
+bright images, and a diction tinged successively with the careless
+richness of Shakespeare, the antique simplicity of the old romances, the
+homeliness of vulgar ballads, and the sentimental glitter of the most
+modern poetry,--passing from the borders of the ludicrous to the
+sublime, alternately minute and energetic, sometimes artificial, and
+frequently negligent, but always full of spirit and vivacity, abounding
+in images that are striking at first sight to minds of every contexture,
+and never expressing a sentiment which it can cost the most ordinary
+reader any exertion to comprehend.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>This seems to me to be a fair criticism, although the lucidity of
+Scott's poetry is not that which is most admired by modern critics.
+Fashion in these times delights in what is obscure and difficult to be
+understood, as if depth and profundity must necessarily be
+unintelligible to ordinary readers. In Scott's time, however, the
+fashion was different, and the popularity of his poems became almost
+universal. However, there are the same fire, vivacity, and brilliant
+coloring in all three of these masterpieces, as they were regarded two
+generations ago, reminding one of the witchery of Ariosto; yet there is
+no great variety in these poems such as we find in Byron, no great force
+of passion or depth of sentiment, but a sort of harmonious rhythm,--more
+highly prized in the earlier part of the century than in the latter,
+since Wordsworth and Tennyson have made us familiar with what is deeper
+and richer, as well as more artistic, in language and versification. But
+no one has denied Scott's originality and high merits, in contrast with
+the pompous tameness and conventionality of the poetry which arose when
+Johnson was the oracle of literary circles, and which still held the
+stage in Scott's day.</p>
+
+<p>Even Scott's admirers, however, like Canning and Ellis, did not hesitate
+to say that they would like something different from anything he had
+already written. But this was not to be; and perhaps the reason why he
+soon after gave up writing poetry was the conviction that his genius as
+a poet did not lie in variety and richness, either of style or matter.
+His great fame was earned by his novels.</p>
+
+<p>One thing greatly surprises me: Scott regarded Joanna Baillie as the
+greatest poetical genius of that day, and be derived more pleasure from
+reading Johnson's &quot;London&quot; and &quot;The Vanity of Human Wishes&quot; than from
+any other poetical composition. Indeed, there is nothing more
+remarkable in literary history than Scott's admiration of poetry
+inferior to his own, and his extraordinary modesty in the estimate of
+his own productions. Most poets are known for their morbid vanity, their
+self-consciousness, their feeling of superiority, and their depreciation
+of superior excellence; but Scott had eminently a healthy mind, as he
+had a healthy body, and shrank from exaggeration as he did from
+vulgarity in all its forms. It is probable that his own estimate of his
+poetry was nearer the truth than that of his admirers, who were
+naturally inclined to be partial.</p>
+
+<p>There has been so much poetry written since &quot;The Lady of the Lake&quot; was
+published,--not only by celebrated poets like Wordsworth, Southey,
+Moore, Byron, Campbell, Keats, Shelley, Tennyson, Browning, Longfellow,
+Lowell, Whittier, Bryant, but also by many minor authors,--that the
+standard is now much higher than it was in the early part of the
+century. Much of that which then was regarded as very fine is now smiled
+at by the critics, and neglected by cultivated readers generally; and
+Scott has not escaped unfavorable criticism.</p>
+
+<p>It has been my object to present the subject of this Lecture
+historically rather than critically,--to show the extraordinary
+popularity of Scott as a poet among his contemporaries, rather than to
+estimate his merit at the present time. I confess that most of
+&quot;Marmion,&quot; as also of the &quot;Lady of the Lake,&quot; is tame to me, and
+deficient in high poetic genius. Doubtless we are all influenced by the
+standards of our own time, and the advances making in literature as well
+as in science and art. Yet this change in the opinions of critics does
+not apply to Byron's &quot;Childe Harold,&quot; which is as much, if not as
+widely, admired now as when it was first published. We think as highly
+too of &quot;The Deserted Village,&quot; the &quot;Elegy in a Country Churchyard,&quot; and
+the &quot;Cotter's Saturday Night,&quot; as our fathers did. And men now think
+much more highly of the merits of Shakspeare than they have at any
+period since he lived; so that after all there is an element in true
+poetry which does not lose by time. In another hundred years, the
+verdicts of critics as to the greater part of the poems of Tennyson,
+Wordsworth, Browning, and Longfellow, may be very different from what
+they now are, while some of their lyrics may be, as they are now,
+pronounced immortal.</p>
+
+<p>Poetry is both an inspiration and an art. The greater part of that which
+is now produced is made, not born. Those daintily musical and elaborate
+measures which are now the fashion, because they claim novelty, or
+reproduce the quaintness of an art so old as to be practically new,
+perhaps will soon again be forgotten or derided. What is simple,
+natural, appealing to the heart rather than to the head, may last when
+more pretentious poetry shall have passed away. Neither criticism nor
+contemporary popularity can decide such questions.</p>
+
+<p>Scott himself seemed to take a true view. In a letter to Miss Seward, he
+said:--</p>
+
+<p>&quot;The immortality of poetry is not so firm a point in my creed as the
+immortality of the soul.&quot;</p>
+
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 'I've lived too long,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And seen the death of much immortal song.'<br>
+
+<p>&quot;Nay, those that have really attained their literary immortality have
+gained it under very hard conditions. To some it has not attached till
+after death. To others it has been the means of lauding personal vices
+and follies which had otherwise been unremembered in their epitaphs; and
+all enjoy the same immortality under a condition similar to that of
+Noureddin in an Eastern tale. Noureddin, you remember, was to enjoy the
+gift of immortality, but with this qualification,--that he was subjected
+to long naps of forty, fifty, or a hundred years at a time. Even so
+Homer and Virgil slumbered through whole centuries. Shakspeare himself
+enjoyed undisturbed sleep from the age of Charles I., until Garrick
+waked him. Dryden's fame has nodded; that of Pope begins to be drowsy;
+Chaucer is as sound as a top, and Spenser is snoring in the midst of his
+commentators. Milton, indeed, is quite awake; but, observe, he was at
+his very outset refreshed with a nap of half-a-century; and in the midst
+of all this we sons of degeneracy talk of immortality! Let me please my
+own generation, and let those who come after us judge of their facts and
+my performances as they please; the anticipation of their neglect or
+censure will affect me very little.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>In 1812 the poet-lawyer was rewarded with the salary of a place whose
+duties he had for some years performed without pay,--that of Clerk of
+Sessions, worth &pound;800 per annum. Thus having now about &pound;1500 as an
+income, independently of his earnings by the pen, Scott gave up his
+practice as an advocate, and devoted himself entirely to literature. At
+the same time he bought a farm of somewhat more than a hundred acres on
+the banks of the beautiful Tweed, about five miles from Ashestiel, and
+leaving to its owners the pretty place in which he had for six years
+enjoyed life and work, he removed to the cottage at Abbotsford,--for
+thus he named his new purchase, in memory of the abbots of Melrose, who
+formerly owned all the region, and the ruins of whose lovely abbey stood
+not far away. Of the &pound;4000 for this purchase half was borrowed from his
+brother, and the other half on the pledge of the profits of a poem that
+was projected but not written,--&quot;Rokeby.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Scott ought to have been content with Ashestiel; or, since every man
+wishes to own his home, he should have been satisfied with the
+comfortable cottage which he built at Abbotsford, and the modest
+improvements that his love for trees and shrubs enabled him to make.
+But his aspirations led him into serious difficulties. With all his
+sagacity and good sense, Scott never seemed to know when he was well
+off. It was a fatal mistake both for his fame and happiness to attempt
+to compete with those who are called great in England and
+Scotland,--that is, peers and vast landed proprietors. He was not alone
+in this error, for it has generally been the ambition of fortunate
+authors to acquire social as well as literary distinction,--thus paying
+tribute to riches, and virtually abdicating their own true position,
+which is higher than any that rank or wealth can give. It has too
+frequently been the misfortune of literary genius to bow down to vulgar
+idols; and the worldly sentiments which this idolatry involves are seen
+in almost every fashionable novel which has appeared for a hundred
+years. In no country is this melancholy social slavery more usual than
+in England, with all its political freedom, although there are noble
+exceptions. The only great flaw in Scott's character was this homage to
+rank and wealth.</p>
+
+<p>On the other hand, rank and wealth also paid homage to him as a man of
+genius; both Scotland and England received him into the most select
+circles, not only of their literary and political, but of their
+fashionable, life.</p>
+
+<p>In 1811 Scott published &quot;The Lord of the Isles,&quot; and in 1813, &quot;Rokeby,&quot;
+neither of which was remarkable for either literary or commercial
+success, although both were well received. In 1814 he edited a
+nineteen-volume edition of Dean Swift's works, with a Life, and in the
+same year began--almost by accident--the real work of his own career, in
+&quot;Waverley.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>If public opinion is far different to-day from what it was in Scott's
+time in reference to his poetry, we observe the same change in regard to
+the source of his widest fame, his novels,--but not to so marked a
+degree, for it was in fiction that Scott's great gifts had their full
+fruition. Many a fine intellect still delights in his novels, though
+cultivated readers and critics differ as to their comparative merits. No
+two persons will unite in their opinions as to the three of those
+productions which they like most or least. It is so with all famous
+novels. Then, too, what man of seventy will agree with a man of thirty
+as to the comparative merits of Scott, Dickens, Thackeray, Trollope,
+George Eliot, Eugene Sue, Victor Hugo, Balzac, George Sand? How few read
+&quot;Uncle Tom's Cabin,&quot; compared with the multitudes who read that most
+powerful and popular book forty years ago? How changing, if not
+transient, is the fame of the novelist as well as of the poet! With
+reference to him even the same generation changes its tastes. What
+filled us with delight as young men or women of twenty, is at fifty
+spurned with contempt or thrown aside with indifference. No books ever
+filled my mind and soul with the delight I had when, at twelve years of
+age, I read &quot;The Children of the Abbey&quot; and &quot;Thaddeus of Warsaw,&quot; What
+man of eighty can forget the enthusiasm with which he read &quot;Old
+Mortality&quot; or &quot;Ivanhoe&quot; when he was in college?</p>
+
+<p>Perhaps one test of a great book is the pleasure derived from reading it
+over and over again,--as we read &quot;Don Quixote,&quot; or the dramas of
+Shakspeare, of whose infinite variety we never tire. Measured by this
+test, the novels of Sir Walter Scott are among the foremost works of
+fiction which have appeared in our world. They will not all retain their
+popularity from generation to generation, like &quot;Don Quixote&quot; or &quot;The
+Pilgrim's Progress&quot; or &quot;The Vicar of Wakefield;&quot; but these are single
+productions of their authors, while not a few of Scott's many novels are
+certainly still read by cultivated people,--if not with the same
+interest they excited when first published, yet with profit and
+admiration. They have some excellencies which are immortal,--elevation
+of sentiment, chivalrous regard for women, fascination of narrative
+(after one has waded through the learned historical introductory
+chapters), the absence of exaggeration, the vast variety of characters
+introduced and vividly maintained, and above all the freshness and
+originality of description, both of Nature and of man. Among the
+severest and most bigoted of New England Puritans, none could find
+anything corrupting or demoralizing in his romances; whereas Byron and
+Bulwer were never mentioned without a shudder, and even Shakspeare was
+locked up in book-cases as unfit for young people to read, and not
+particularly creditable for anybody to own. The unfavorable comments
+which the most orthodox ever made upon Scott were as to the
+repulsiveness of the old Covenanters, as he described them, and his
+sneers at Puritan perfections. Scott, however, had contempt, not for the
+Puritans, but for many of their peculiarities,--especially for their
+cant when it degenerated into hypocrisy.</p>
+
+<p>One thing is certain, that no works of fiction have had such universal
+popularity both in England and America for so long a period as the
+Waverley Novels. Scott reigned as the undisputed monarch of the realm of
+fiction and romance for twenty-five years. He gave undiminished
+entertainment to an entire generation--and not that merely, but
+instruction--in his historical novels, although his views were not
+always correct,--as whose ever are? He who could charm millions of
+readers, learned and unlearned, for a quarter of a century must have
+possessed remarkable genius. Indeed, he was not only the central figure
+in English literature for a generation, but he was regarded as
+peculiarly original. Another style of novels may obtain more passing
+favor with modern readers, but Scott was justly famous; his works are
+to-day in every library, and form a delightful part of the education of
+every youth and maiden who cares to read at all; and he will as a
+novelist probably live after some who are now prime favorites will be
+utterly forgotten or ignored.</p>
+
+<p>About 1830 Bulwer was in his early successes; about 1840 Dickens was the
+rage of his day; about 1850 Thackeray had taken his high grade; and it
+was about 1860 that George Eliot's power appeared. These still retain
+their own peculiar lines of popularity,--Bulwer with the romantic few,
+Thackeray with the appreciative intelligent, George Eliot with a still
+wider clientage, and Dickens with everybody, on account of his appeal to
+the universal sentiments of comedy and pathos. Scott's influence,
+somewhat checked during the growth of these reputations and the
+succession of fertile and accomplished writers on both sides of the
+Atlantic,--including the introspective analysts of the past fifteen
+years,--has within a decade been rising again, and has lately burst
+forth in a new group of historical romancers who seem to have &quot;harked
+back&quot; from the subjective fad of our day to Scott's healthy, adventurous
+objectivity. Not only so, but new editions of the Waverley Novels are
+coming one by one from the shrewd publishers who keep track of the
+popular taste, one of the most attractive being issued in Edinburgh at
+half-a-crown a volume.</p>
+
+<p>The first of Scott's remarkable series of novels, &quot;Waverley,&quot; published
+in 1814 when the author was forty-three years of age and at the height
+of his fame as a poet, took the fashionable and literary world by storm.
+The novel had been partly written for several years, but was laid aside,
+as his edition of Swift and his essays for the supplement of the
+&quot;Encyclopaedia Britannica,&quot; and other prose writings, employed all the
+time he had to spare.</p>
+
+<p>This hack-work was done by Scott without enthusiasm, to earn money for
+his investment in real estate, and is not of transcendent merit.
+Obscurer men than he had performed such literary drudgery with more
+ability, but no writer was ever more industrious. The amount of work
+which he accomplished at this period was prodigious, especially when we
+remember that his duties as sheriff and clerk of Sessions occupied eight
+months of the year. He was more familiar with the literary history of
+Queen Anne's reign than any subsequent historian, if we except Macaulay,
+whose brilliant career had not yet begun. He took, of course, a
+different view of Swift from the writers of the Edinburgh Review, and
+was probably too favorable in his description of the personal character
+of the Dean of St. Patrick's, who is now generally regarded as
+&quot;inordinately ambitious, arrogant, and selfish; of a morose, vindictive,
+and haughty temper, utterly destitute of generosity and magnanimity, as
+well as of tenderness, fidelity, and compassion.&quot; Lord Jeffrey, in his
+Review, attacked Swift's moral character with such consummate ability as
+to check materially the popularity of his writings, which are
+universally admitted to be full of genius. His superb intellect and his
+morality present a sad contrast,--as in the cases of Bacon, Burns, and
+Byron,--which Scott, on account of the force of his Tory prejudices, did
+not sufficiently point out.</p>
+
+<p>But as to the novel, when it suddenly appeared, it is not surprising
+that &quot;Waverley&quot; should at once have attained an unexampled popularity
+when we consider the mediocrity of all works of fiction at that time, if
+we except the Irish tales of Maria Edgeworth. Scott received from
+Constable &pound;1000 for this romance, then deemed a very liberal
+remuneration for what cost him but a few months' work. The second and
+third volumes were written in one month. He wrote with remarkable
+rapidity when his mind was full of the subject; and his previous studies
+as an antiquary and as a collector of Scottish poetry and legends fitted
+him for his work, which was in no sense a task, but a most
+lively pleasure.</p>
+
+<p>It is not known why Scott published this strikingly original work
+anonymously; perhaps it was because of his unusual modesty, and the fear
+that he might lose the popularity he had already enjoyed as a poet. But
+it immediately placed him on a higher literary elevation, since it was
+generally suspected that he was the author. He could not altogether
+disguise himself from the keen eyes of Jeffrey and other critics.</p>
+
+<p>The book was received as a revelation. The first volume is not
+particularly interesting, but the story continually increases in
+interest to its close. It is not a dissection of the human heart; it is
+not even much of a love-story, but a most vivid narrative, without
+startling situations or adventures. Its great charm is its quiet
+humor,--not strained into witty expressions which provoke laughter, but
+a sort of amiable delineation of the character of a born gentleman, with
+his weaknesses and prejudices, all leaning to virtue's side. It is a
+description of manners peculiar to the Scottish gentry in the middle of
+the eighteenth century, especially among the Jacobite families then
+passing away.</p>
+
+<p>Of course the popularity of this novel, at that time, was chiefly
+confined to the upper classes. In the first place the people could not
+afford to pay the price of the book; and, secondly, it was outside their
+sympathies and knowledge. Indeed, I doubt if any commonplace person,
+without culture or extended knowledge, can enjoy so refined a work, with
+so many learned allusions, and such exquisite humor, which appeals to a
+knowledge of the world in its higher aspects. It is one of the last
+books that an ignorant young lady brought up on the trash of ordinary
+fiction would relish or comprehend. Whoever turns uninterested from
+&quot;Waverley&quot; is probably unable to see its excellencies or enjoy its
+peculiar charms. It is not a book for a modern school-boy or
+school-girl, but for a man or woman in the highest maturity of mind,
+with a poetic or imaginative nature, and with a leaning perhaps to
+aristocratic sentiments. It is a rebuke to vulgarity and ignorance,
+which the minute and exaggerated descriptions of low life in the pages
+of Dickens certainly are not.</p>
+
+<p>In February, 1815, &quot;Guy Mannering&quot; was published, the second in the
+series of the Waverley Novels, and was received by the intelligent
+reading classes with even more <i>&eacute;clat</i> than &quot;Waverley,&quot; to which it is
+superior in many respects. It plunges at once <i>in medias res</i>, without
+the long and labored introductory chapters of its predecessor. It is
+interesting from first to last, and is an elaborate and well-told tale,
+written <i>con amore</i>, when Scott was in the maturity of his powers. It is
+full of incident and is delightful in humor. Its chief excellence is in
+the loftiness of its sentiments,--being one of the healthiest and
+wholesomest novels ever written, appealing to the heart as well as to
+the intellect, to be read over and over again, like &quot;The Vicar of
+Wakefield,&quot; without weariness. It may be too aristocratic in its tone to
+please everybody, but it portrays the sentiments of its age in reference
+to squires and Scottish lairds, who were more distinguished for
+uprightness and manly duties than for brains and culture.</p>
+
+<p>The fascination with which Scott always depicts the virtues of
+hospitality and trust in humanity makes a strong impression on the
+imagination. His heroes and heroines are not remarkable for genius, but
+shine in the higher glories of domestic affection and fidelity to
+trusts. Two characters in particular are original creations,--&quot;Dominie
+Sampson&quot; and &quot;Meg Merrilies,&quot; whom no reader can forget,--the one,
+ludicrous for his simplicity; and the other a gypsy woman, weird and
+strange, more like a witch than a sibyl, but intensely human, and
+capable of the strongest attachment for those she loved.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;The easy and transparent flow of the style of this novel; its beautiful
+simplicity; the wild magnificence of its sketches of scenery; the rapid
+and ever brightening interest of the narrative; the unaffected kindness
+of feeling; the manly purity of thought, everywhere mingled with a
+gentle humor and homely sagacity,--but, above all, the rich variety and
+skilful contrast of character and manners, at once fresh in fiction, and
+stamped with the unforgeable seal of truth and nature, spoke to every
+heart and mind; and the few murmurs of pedantic criticism were lost in
+the voice of general delight which never fails to welcome the invention
+that introduces to the sympathy of the imagination a new group of
+immortal realities.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Scott received about &pound;2000 for this favorite romance,--one entirely new
+in the realm of fiction,--which enabled him to pay off his most pressing
+debts, and indulge his taste for travel. He visited the Field of
+Waterloo, and became a social lion in both Paris and London. The Prince
+of Wales sent him a magnificent snuff-box set with diamonds, and
+entertained him with admiring cordiality at Carlton House,--for his
+authorship of &quot;Waverley&quot; was more than surmised, while his fame as a
+poet was second only to that of Byron. Then (in the spring of 1815) took
+place the first meeting of these two great bards, and their successive
+interviews were graced with mutual compliments. Scott did not think that
+Byron's reading was extensive either in poetry or history, in which
+opinion the industrious Scottish bard was mistaken; but he did justice
+ta Byron's transcendent genius, and with more charity than severity
+mourned over his departure from virtue. After a series of brilliant
+banquets at the houses of the great, both of rank and of fame, Scott
+returned to his native land to renew his varied and exhausting labors,
+having furnished his publishers with a volume of letters on the subjects
+which most interested him during his short tour. Everything he touched
+now brought him gold.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Paul's Letters to his Kinsfolk,&quot; as he called this volume concerning
+his tour, was well received, but not with the enthusiasm which marked
+the publication of &quot;Guy Mannering;&quot; indeed, it had no special claim to
+distinction. &quot;The Antiquary&quot; followed in May of the next year, and
+though it lacked the romance of &quot;Waverley&quot; and the adventure of &quot;Guy
+Mannering,&quot; it had even a larger sale. Scott himself regarded it as
+superior to both; but an author is not always the best judge of his own
+productions, and we do not accept his criticism. It probably cost him
+more labor; but it is an exhibition of his erudition rather than a
+revelation of himself or of Nature. It is certainly very learned; but
+learning does not make a book popular, nor is a work of fiction the
+place for a display of learning. If &quot;The Antiquary&quot; were published in
+these times, it would be pronounced pedantic. Readers are apt to skip
+names and learned allusions and scraps of Latin. As a story I think it
+inferior to &quot;Guy Mannering,&quot; although it has great merits,--&quot;a kind of
+simple, unsought charm,&quot;--and is a transcript of actual Scottish life.
+It had a great success; Scott says in a letter to his friend Terry: &quot;It
+is at press again, six thousand having been sold in six days.&quot; Before
+the novel was finished, the author had already projected his &quot;Tales of
+My Landlord.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Scott was now at the flood-tide of his creative power, and his industry
+was as remarkable as his genius. There was but little doubt in the
+public mind as to the paternity of the Waverley Novels, and whatever
+Scott wrote was sure to have a large sale; so that every publisher of
+note was eager to have a hand in bringing his productions before the
+public. In 1816 appeared the &quot;Edinburgh Annual Register,&quot; containing
+Scott's sketch of the year 1814, which, though very good, showed that
+the author was less happy in history than in fiction.</p>
+
+<p>The first series of &quot;Tales of My Landlord&quot; was published by Murray, and
+not by Constable, who had brought out Scott's other works, and the book
+was received with unbounded enthusiasm. Many critics place &quot;Old
+Mortality&quot; in the highest niche of merit and fame. Frere of the
+Quarterly Review, Hallam, Boswell, Lamb, Lord Holland, all agreed that
+it surpassed his other novels. Bishop Heber said, &quot;There are only two
+men in the world,--Walter Scott and Lord Byron.&quot; Lockhart regarded &quot;Old
+Mortality&quot; as the &quot;Marmion&quot; of Scott's novels; but the painting of the
+Covenanters gave offence to the more rigid of the Presbyterians. For
+myself, I have doubt as to the correctness of their criticisms. &quot;Old
+Mortality,&quot; in contrast with the previous novels of Scott, has a place
+similar to the later productions of George Eliot as compared with her
+earlier ones. It is not so vivid a sketch of Scotch life as is given in
+&quot;Guy Mannering.&quot; Like &quot;The Antiquary,&quot; it is bookish rather than
+natural. From a literary point of view, it is more artistic than &quot;Guy
+Mannering,&quot; and more learned. &quot;The canvas is a broader one.&quot; Its
+characters are portrayed with great skill and power, but they lack the
+freshness which comes from actual contact with the people described, and
+with whom Scott was familiar as a youth in the course of his wanderings.
+It is more historical than realistic. In short, &quot;Old Mortality&quot; is
+another creation of its author's brain rather than a painting of real
+life. But it is justly famous, for it was the precursor of those
+brilliant historical romances from which so much is learned of great men
+already known to students. It was a new departure in literature.</p>
+
+<p>Before Scott arose, historical novels were comparatively unknown. He
+made romance instructive, rather than merely amusing, and added the
+charm of life to the dry annals of the past. Cervantes does not portray
+a single great character known in Spanish history in his &quot;Don Quixote,&quot;
+but he paints life as he has seen it. So does Goldsmith. So does George
+Eliot in &quot;Silas Marner.&quot; She presents life, indeed, in &quot;Romola,&quot;--not,
+however, as she had personally observed it, but as drawn from books,
+recreating the atmosphere of a long gone time by the power of
+imagination.</p>
+
+<p>The earlier works of Scott are drawn from memory and personal feeling,
+rather than from the knowledge he had gained by study. Of &quot;Old
+Mortality&quot; he writes to Lady Louisa Stuart: &quot;I am complete master of the
+whole history of these strange times, both of persecutors and
+persecuted; so I trust I have come decently off.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The divisional grouping of these earlier novels by Scott himself is
+interesting. In the &quot;Advertisement&quot; to &quot;The Antiquary&quot; he says: &quot;The
+present work completes a series of fictitious narratives, intended to
+illustrate the manners of Scotland at three different periods. WAVERLEY
+embraced the age of our fathers [''Tis Sixty Years Since'], GUY
+MANNERING that of our own youth, and THE ANTIQUARY refers to the last
+ten years of the eighteenth century.&quot; The dedication of &quot;Tales of My
+Landlord&quot; describes them as &quot;tales illustrative of ancient Scottish
+manners, and of the traditions of their [his countrymen's] respective
+districts.&quot; They were--<i>First Series</i>: &quot;The Black Dwarf&quot; and &quot;Old
+Mortality;&quot; <i>Second Series:</i> &quot;The Heart of Mid-Lothian;&quot; <i>Third Series:</i>
+&quot;The Bride of Lammermoor&quot; and &quot;A Legend of Montrose;&quot; <i>Fourth Series:</i>
+&quot;Count Robert of Paris&quot; and &quot;Castle Dangerous.&quot; These all (except the
+fourth series, in 1832) appeared in the six years from 1814 to 1820, and
+besides these, &quot;Rob Roy,&quot; &quot;Ivanhoe,&quot; and &quot;The Monastery.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>With the publication of &quot;Old Mortality&quot; in 1816, then, Scott introduced
+the first of his historical novels, which had great fascination for
+students. Who ever painted the old Cameronian with more felicity? Who
+ever described the peculiarities of the Scottish Calvinists during the
+reign of the last of the Stuarts with more truthfulness,--their
+severity, their strict and Judaical observance of the Sabbath, their
+hostility to popular amusements, their rigid and legal morality, their
+love of theological dogmas, their inflexible prejudices, their lofty
+aspirations? Where shall we find in literature a sterner fanatical
+Puritan than John Balfour of Burley, or a fiercer royalist than Graham
+of Claverhouse? As a love-story this novel is not remarkable. It is not
+in the description of passionate love that Scott anywhere excels. His
+heroines, with two or three exceptions, would be called rather tame by
+the modern reader, although they win respect for their domestic virtues
+and sterling elements of character. His favorite heroes are either
+Englishmen of good family, or Scotchmen educated in England,--gallant,
+cultivated, and reproachless, but without any striking originality or
+intellectual force.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Rob Roy&quot; was published in the latter part of 1817, and was received by
+the public with the same unabated enthusiasm which marked the appearance
+of &quot;Guy Mannering&quot; and the other romances. An edition of ten thousand
+was disposed of in two weeks, and the subsequent sale amounted to forty
+thousand more. The scene of this story is laid in the Highlands of
+Scotland, with an English hero and a Scottish heroine; and in this
+fascinating work the political history of the times (forty years earlier
+than the period of &quot;Waverley&quot;) is portrayed with great impartiality. It
+is a description of the first Jacobite rising against George I. in the
+year 1715. In this novel one of the greatest of Scott's creations
+appears in the heroine, Diana Vernon,--rather wild and masculine, but
+interesting from her courage and virtue. The character of Baillie Jarvie
+is equally original and more amusing.</p>
+
+<p>The general effect of &quot;Rob Roy,&quot; as well as of &quot;Waverley&quot; and &quot;Old
+Mortality,&quot; was to make the Scottish Highlanders and Jacobites
+interesting to English readers of opposite views and feelings, without
+arousing hostility to the reigning royal family. The Highlanders a
+hundred years ago were viewed by the English with sentiments nearly
+similar to those with which the Puritan settlers of New England looked
+upon the Indians,--at any rate, as freebooters, robbers, and murderers,
+who were dangerous to civilization; and the severities of the English
+government toward these lawless clans, both as outlaws and as foes of
+the Hanoverian succession, were generally condoned by public opinion.
+Scott succeeded in producing a better feeling among both the conquerors
+and the conquered. He modified general sentiment by his impartial and
+liberal views, and allayed prejudices. The Highlanders thenceforth were
+regarded as a body of men with many interesting traits, and capable of
+becoming good subjects of the Crown; while their own hatred and contempt
+of the Lowland Saxon were softened by the many generous and romantic
+incidents of these tales. Two hitherto hostile races were drawn into
+neighborly sympathy. Travellers visited the beautiful Highland retreats,
+and returned with enthusiastic impressions of the country. To no other
+man does Scotland owe so great a debt of gratitude as to Walter Scott,
+not only for his poetry and novels, but for showing the admirable traits
+of a barren country and a fierce population, and contributing to bring
+them within the realm of civilization. A century or two ago the
+Highlands of Scotland were peopled by a race in a state of perpetual
+conflict with civilization, averse to labor, gaining (except such of
+them as were enrolled in the English Army) a precarious support by
+plunder, black-mailing, smuggling, and other illegal pursuits. Now they
+compose a body of hard-working, intelligent, and law-abiding laborers,
+cultivating farms, raising cattle and sheep, and pursuing the various
+branches of industry which lead to independence, if not to wealth. The
+traveller among the Highlanders feels as secure and is made as
+comfortable as in any part of the island; while revelations of their
+shrewd intelligence and unsuspected wit, in the stories of Barrie and
+Crockett, show what a century of Calvinistic theology--as the chief
+mental stimulant--has done in developing blossoms from that
+thistle-like stock.</p>
+
+<p>Scott had now all the fame and worldly prosperity which any literary man
+could attain to,--for his authorship of the novels, although
+unacknowledged, was more and more generally believed, and after 1821 not
+denied. He lived above the atmosphere of envy, honored by all classes of
+people, surrounded with admiring friends and visitors. He had an income
+of at least &pound;10,000 a year. Wherever he journeyed he was treated with
+the greatest distinction. In London he was cordially received as a
+distinguished guest in any circle he chose. The highest nobles paid
+homage to him. The King made him a baronet,--the first purely literary
+man in England to receive that honor. He now became ambitious to
+increase his lands; and the hundred acres of farm at Abbotsford were
+enlarged by new purchases, picturesquely planted with trees and
+shrubberies, while &quot;the cottage grew to a mansion, and the mansion to a
+castle,&quot; with its twelve hundred surrounding acres, cultivated and made
+beautiful.</p>
+
+<p>Scott's correspondence with famous people was immense, besides his other
+labors as farmer, lawyer, and author. Few persons of rank or fame
+visited Edinburgh without paying their respects to its most eminent
+citizen. His country house was invaded by tourists. He was on terms of
+intimacy with some of the proudest nobles of Scotland. His various works
+were the daily food not only of his countrymen, but of all educated
+Europe. &quot;Station, power, wealth, beauty, and genius strove with each
+other in every demonstration of respect and worship.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>And yet in the midst of this homage and increasing prosperity, one of
+the most fortunate of human beings, Scott's head was not turned. His
+habitual modesty preserved his moral health amid all sorts of
+temptation. He never lost his intellectual balance. He assumed no airs
+of superiority. His manners were simple and unpretending to the last. He
+praised all literary productions except his own. His life in Edinburgh
+was plain, though hospitable and free; and he seemed to care for few
+luxuries aside from books, of which life made a large collection. The
+furniture of his houses in Edinburgh and at Abbotsford was neither showy
+nor luxurious. He was extraordinarily fond of dogs and all domestic
+animals, who--sympathetic creatures as they are--unerringly sought him
+out and lavished affection upon him.</p>
+
+<p>When Scott lived in Castle Street he was not regarded by Edinburgh
+society as particularly brilliant in conversation, since he never
+aspired to lead by learned disquisitions. He told stories well, with
+great humor and pleasantry, to amuse rather than to instruct. His talk
+was almost homely. The most noticeable thing about it was common-sense.
+Lord Cockburn said of him that &quot;his sense was more wonderful than his
+genius.&quot; He did not blaze like Macaulay or Mackintosh at the
+dinner-table, nor absorb conversation like Coleridge and Sydney Smith.
+&quot;He disliked,&quot; says Lockhart, &quot;mere disquisitions in Edinburgh and
+prepared impromptus in London.&quot; A <i>doctrinaire</i> in society was to him an
+abomination. Hence, until his fame was established by the admiration of
+the world, Edinburgh professors did not see his greatness. To them he
+seemed commonplace, but not to such men as Hallam or Moore or Rogers or
+Croker or Canning.</p>
+
+<p>Notwithstanding Scott gave great dinners occasionally, they appear to
+have been a bore to him, and he very rarely went out to evening
+entertainments, although at public dinners his wit and sense made him a
+favorite chairman. He retired early at night and rose early in the
+morning, and his severest labors were before breakfast,--his principal
+meal. He always dined at home on Sunday, with a few intimate friends,
+and his dinner was substantial and plain. He drank very little wine, and
+preferred a glass of whiskey-toddy to champagne or port. He could not
+distinguish between madeira and sherry. He was neither an epicure nor
+a gourmand.</p>
+
+<p>After Scott had become world-famous, his happiest hours were spent in
+enlarging and adorning his land at Abbotsford, and in erecting and
+embellishing his baronial castle. In this his gains were more than
+absorbed. He loved that castle more than any of his intellectual
+creations, and it was not completed until nearly all his novels were
+written. Without personal extravagance, he was lavish in the sums he
+spent on Abbotsford. Here he delighted to entertain his distinguished
+visitors, of whom no one was more welcome than Washington Irving, whom
+he liked for his modesty and quiet humor and unpretending manners.
+Lockhart writes: &quot;It would hardly, I believe, be too much to affirm that
+Sir Walter Scott entertained under his roof, in the course of the seven
+or eight brilliant seasons when his prosperity was at its height, as
+many persons of distinction in rank, in politics, in art, in literature,
+and in science, as the most princely nobleman of his age ever did in the
+like space of time.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>One more unconscious, apparently, of his great powers has been rarely
+seen among literary men, especially in England and France,--affording a
+striking contrast in this respect to Dryden, Pope, Voltaire, Byron,
+Bulwer, Macaulay, Carlyle, Hugo, Dumas, and even Tennyson. Great lawyers
+and great statesmen are rarely so egotistical and conceited as poets,
+novelists, artists, and preachers. Scott made no pretensions which were
+offensive, or which could be controverted. His greatest aspiration seems
+to have been to be a respectable landed proprietor, and to found a
+family. An English country gentleman was his beau-ideal of happiness and
+contentment. Perhaps this was a weakness; but it was certainly a
+harmless and amiable one, and not so offensive as intellectual pride.
+Scott indeed, while without vanity, had pride; but it was of a lofty
+kind, disdaining meanness and cowardice as worse even than
+transgressions which have their origin in unregulated passions.</p>
+
+<p>From the numerous expletives which abound in Scott's letters, such as
+are not now considered in good taste among gentlemen, I infer that like
+most gentlemen of his social standing in those times he was in the habit
+of using, when highly excited or irritated, what is called profane
+language. After he had once given vent to his feelings, however, he was
+amiable and forgiving enough for a Christian sage, who never harbored
+malice or revenge. He had great respect for the military
+profession,--probably because it was the great prop and defence of
+government and established institutions, for he was the most
+conservative of aristocrats. And yet his aristocratic turn of mind never
+conflicted with his humane disposition,--never made him a snob. He
+abhorred all vulgarity. He admired genius and virtue in whatever garb
+they appeared. He was as kind to his servants, and to poor and
+unfortunate people, as he was to his equals in society, being eminently
+big-hearted. It was only fools, who made great pretensions, that he
+despised and treated with contempt.</p>
+
+<p>No doubt Scott was bored by the numerous visitors, whether invited or
+uninvited, who came from all parts of Great Britain, from America, and
+even from continental Europe, to do homage to his genius, or to gratify
+their curiosity. Sometimes as many as thirty guests sat down to his
+banqueting-table at once. He entertained in baronial style, but without
+ostentation or prodigality, and on old-fashioned dishes. He did not
+like French cooking, and his simple taste in the matters of beverage we
+have already noted. The people to whom he was most attentive were the
+representatives of ancient families, whether rich or poor.</p>
+
+<p>Scott was very kind to literary men in misfortune, and his chosen
+friends were authors of eminence,--like Miss Edgeworth, Joanna Baillie,
+Thomas Moore, Crabbe, Southey, Wordsworth, Sir Humphry Davy, Dr.
+Wollaston the chemist, Henry Mackenzie, etc. He was very intimate with
+the Duke of Buccleuch, Lord Montagu, and other noblemen. He was visited
+by dukes and princes, as well as by ladies of rank and fame. George IV.
+sent him valuable presents, and showed him every mark of high
+consideration. Cambridge and Oxford tendered to him honorary degrees.
+Wherever he travelled, he was received with honor and distinction and
+flatteries. But he did not like flatteries; and this was one reason why
+he did not openly acknowledge his authorship of his novels, until all
+doubt was removed by the masterly papers of John Leycester Adolphus
+in 1821.</p>
+
+<p>Scott's correspondence must have been enormous, for his postage bills
+amounted to &pound;150 per annum, besides the aid he received from franks,
+which with his natural economy he made no scruple in liberally using.
+Perhaps his most confidential letters were, like Byron's, written to his
+publishers and printers, though many such were addressed to his
+son-in-law Lockhart, and to his dearest friend William Erskine. But he
+had also some admirable women friends, with whom he corresponded freely.
+Some of the choicest of his recently-published Letters are to Lady
+Abercorn, who was an intimate and helpful friend; to Miss Anna Seward, a
+literary confidant of many years; to Lady Louisa Stuart, daughter of the
+Earl of Bute, and granddaughter of Mary Wortley Montagu, one of the few
+who knew from the first of his &quot;Waverley&quot; authorship; and to Mrs. John
+Hughes, an early and most affectionate friend, whose grandson, Thomas
+Hughes, has made famous the commonplace name of &quot;Tom Brown&quot; in our
+own day.</p>
+
+<p>Scott's letters show the man,--frank, cordial, manly, tender, generous,
+finding humor in difficulties, pleasure in toil, satisfaction in
+success, a proud courage in adversity, and the purest happiness in the
+affection of his friends.</p>
+
+<p>How Scott found time for so much work is a mystery,--writing nearly
+three novels a year, besides other literary labors, attending to his
+duties in the Courts, overlooking the building of Abbotsford and the
+cultivation of his twelve hundred acres, and entertaining more guests
+than Voltaire did at Ferney. He was too much absorbed by his legal
+duties and his literary labors to be much of a traveller; yet he was a
+frequent visitor to London, saw something of Paris, journeyed through
+Ireland, was familiar with the Lake region in England, and penetrated to
+every interesting place in Scotland. He did not like London, and took
+little pleasure in the ovations he received from people of rank and
+fashion. As a literary lion at the tables of &quot;the great,&quot; he
+disappointed many of his admirers, since he made no effort to shine. It
+was only in his modest den in Castle Street, or in rambles in the
+country or at Abbotsford, that he felt himself at home, and appeared to
+the most advantage.</p>
+
+<p>It would be pleasant to leave this genuinely great man in the full flush
+of health, creative power, inward delight and outward prosperity; but
+that were to leave unwritten the finest and noblest part of his life. It
+is to the misfortunes which came upon him that we owe both a large part
+of his splendid achievements in literature and our knowledge of the most
+admirable characteristics of the man.</p>
+
+<p>My running record of his novels last mentioned &quot;The Monastery,&quot; issued
+in 1820, in the same year with perhaps the prime favorite of all his
+works, &quot;Ivanhoe,&quot; the romantic tale of England in the crusading age of
+Richard the Lion-Hearted. In 1821 he put forth the fascinating
+Elizabethan tale of &quot;Kenilworth.&quot; In 1822 came &quot;The Pirate&quot; (the tale of
+sea and shore that inspired James Fenimore Cooper to write &quot;The Pilot&quot;
+and his other sea-stories) and &quot;The Fortunes of Nigel;&quot; in 1823,
+&quot;Peveril of the Peak&quot; and &quot;Quentin Durward,&quot; both among his best; in
+1824, &quot;St. Ronan's Well&quot; and &quot;Redgauntlet;&quot; and in 1825, two more Tales
+of the Crusaders,--&quot;The Betrothed&quot; and &quot;The Talisman,&quot; the latter
+probably sharing with &quot;Ivanhoe&quot; the greatest popularity.</p>
+
+<p>In the winter of 1825-1826, a widespread area of commercial distress
+resulted in the downfall of many firms; and among others to succumb were
+Hurst &amp; Robinson, publishers, whose failure precipitated that of
+Constable &amp; Co., Scott's publishers, and of the Ballantynes his
+printers, with whom he was a secret partner, who were largely indebted
+to the Constables and so to the creditors of that house. The crash came
+January 16, 1826, and Scott found himself in debt to the amount of about
+&pound;147,000,--or nearly $735,000.</p>
+
+<p>Such a vast misfortune, overwhelming a man at the age of fifty-five,
+might well crush out all life and hope and send him into helpless
+bankruptcy, with the poor consolation that, though legally responsible,
+he was not morally bound to pay other people's debts. But Scott's own
+sanguine carelessness had been partly to blame for the Ballantyne
+failure; and he faced the billow as it suddenly appeared, bowed to it in
+grief but not in shame, and, while not pretending to any stoicism,
+instantly resolved to devote the remainder of his life to the repayment
+of the creditors.</p>
+
+<p>The solid substance of manliness, honor, and cheerful courage in his
+character; the genuine piety with which he accepted the &quot;dispensation,&quot;
+and wrote &quot;Blessed be the name of the Lord;&quot; the unexampled steadiness
+with which he comforted his wife and daughters while girding himself to
+the daily work of intellectual production amidst his many distresses;
+the sweetness of heart with which he acknowledged the sympathy and
+declined the offers of help that poured in upon him from every side (one
+poor music teacher offering his little savings of &pound;600, and an anonymous
+admirer urging upon him a loan of &pound;30,000),--all this is the beauty that
+lighted up the black cloud of Scott's adversity. His efforts were
+finally successful, although at the cost of his bodily existence.
+Lockhart says: &quot;He paid the penalty of health and life, but he saved his
+honor and his self-respect.</p>
+
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"'The glory dies not, and the grief is past.'&quot;<br>
+
+<p>&quot;Woodstock,&quot; then about half-done, was completed in sixty-nine days, and
+issued in March, 1826, bringing in about $41,000 to his creditors. His
+&quot;Life of Napoleon,&quot; published in June, 1827, produced $90,000. In 1827,
+also, Scott issued &quot;Chronicles of the Canongate,&quot; First Series (several
+minor stories), and the First Series of &quot;Tales of a Grandfather;&quot; in
+1828, &quot;The Fair Maid of Perth&quot; (Second Series of the &quot;Chronicles&quot;), and
+more &quot;Tales of a Grandfather;&quot; in 1829, &quot;Anne of Geierstein,&quot; more
+&quot;Tales of a Grandfather,&quot; the first volume of a &quot;History of Scotland,&quot;
+and a collective edition of the Waverley Novels in forty-eight volumes,
+with new Introductions, Notes, and careful corrections and improvements
+of the text throughout,--in itself an immense labor; in 1830, more
+&quot;Tales of a Grandfather,&quot; a three volume &quot;History of France,&quot; and Volume
+II. of the &quot;History of Scotland;&quot; in 1831, and finally, a Fourth Series
+of &quot;Tales of My Landlord,&quot; including &quot;Count Robert of Paris&quot; and &quot;Castle
+Dangerous.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>This completes the list of Scott's greater productions; but it should be
+remembered that during all the years of his creative work he was
+incessantly doing critical and historical writing,--producing numerous
+reviews, essays, ballads; introductions to divers works; biographical
+sketches for Ballantyne's &quot;Novelist's Library,&quot;--the works of fifteen
+celebrated English writers of fiction, Fielding, Smollett, etc.; letters
+and pamphlets; dramas; even a few religious discourses; and his very
+extensive and interesting private correspondence. He was such a marvel
+of productive brain-power as has seldom, if ever, been known
+to humanity.</p>
+
+<p>The illness and death of Scott's beloved wife, but four short months
+after his commercial disaster, was a profound grief to him; and under
+the exhausting pressure of incessant work during the five years
+following, his bodily power began to fail,--so that in October, 1831,
+after a paralytic shock, he stopped all literary labor and went to Italy
+for recuperation. The following June he returned to London, weaker in
+both mind and body; was taken to Abbotsford in July; and on the 21st
+September, 1832, with his children about him, the kindly, manly, brave,
+and tender spirit passed away.</p>
+
+<p>At the time of his death Sir Walter had reduced his great indebtedness
+to $270,000. A life insurance of $110,000, $10,000 in the hands of his
+trustees, and $150,000 advanced by Robert Cadell, an Edinburgh
+bookseller, on the copyrights of Scott's works, cleared away the last
+remnant of the debt; and within twenty years Cadell had reimbursed
+himself, and made a handsome profit for his own account and that of the
+family of Sir Walter.</p>
+
+<p>The moneyed details of Scott's literary life have been made a part of
+this brief sketch, both because his phenomenal fecundity and popularity
+offer a convenient measure of his power, and because the fiscal
+misfortune of his later life revealed a simple grandeur of character
+even more admirable than his mental force. &quot;Scott ruined!&quot; exclaimed the
+Earl of Dudley when he heard of the trouble. &quot;The author of Waverley
+ruined! Good God! let every man to whom he has given months of delight
+give him a sixpence, and he will rise to-morrow morning richer than
+Rothschild!&quot; But the sturdy Scotchman accepted no dole; he set himself
+to work out his own salvation. William Howitt, in his &quot;Homes and Haunts
+of Eminent British Poets,&quot; estimated that Scott's works had produced as
+profits to the author or his trustees at least &pound;500,000,--nearly
+$2,500,000: this in 1847, over fifty years ago, and only forty-five
+years from Scott's first original publication. Add the results of the
+past fifty years, and, remembering that this gives but the profits,
+conceive the immense sums that have been freely paid by the intelligent
+British public for their enjoyment of this great author's writings.
+Then, besides all this, recall the myriad volumes of Scott sold in
+America, which paid no profit to the author or his heirs. There is
+no parallel.</p>
+
+<p>Voltaire's renown and monetary rewards, as the master-writer of the
+eighteenth century, offer the only case in modern times that approaches
+Scott's success; yet Voltaire's vast wealth was largely the result of
+successful speculation. As a purely popular author, whose wholesome
+fancy, great heart, and tireless industry, has delighted millions of his
+fellow-men, Scott stands alone; while, as a man, he holds the affection
+and respect of the world. Even though it be that the fashion of his
+workmanship passeth away, wonder not, lament not. With Mithridates he
+could say, &quot;I have lived.&quot; What great man can say more?</p>
+
+
+<br><br><hr style="width: 35%;"><br><br>
+<h2><a name="LORD_BYRON."></a>LORD BYRON.</h2>
+
+<hr style="width: 25%;">
+
+<p>1788-1824.</p>
+
+<p>POETIC GENIUS.</p>
+
+<p>It is extremely difficult to depict Lord Byron, and even presumptuous to
+attempt it. This is not only because he is a familiar subject, the
+triumphs and sorrows of whose career have been often portrayed, but also
+because he presents so many contradictions in his life and
+character,--lofty yet degraded, earnest yet frivolous, an impersonation
+of noble deeds and sentiments, and also of almost every frailty which
+Christianity and humanity alike condemn. No great man has been more
+extravagantly admired, and none more bitterly assailed; but generally he
+is regarded as a fallen star,--a man with splendid gifts which he
+wasted, for whom pity is the predominant sentiment in broad and generous
+minds. With all his faults, the English-speaking people are proud of him
+as one of the greatest lights in our literature; and in view of the
+brilliancy of his literary career his own nation in particular does not
+like to have his defects and vices dwelt upon. It blushes and condones.
+It would fain blot out his life and much of his poetry if, without them,
+it could preserve the best and grandest of his writings,--that
+ill-disguised autobiography which goes by the name of &quot;Childe Harold's
+Pilgrimage,&quot; in which he soars to loftier flights than any English poet
+from Milton to his own time. Like Shakespeare, like Dryden, like Pope,
+like Burns, he was a born poet; while most of the other poets, however
+eminent and excellent, were simply made,--made by study and labor on a
+basis of talent, rather than exalted by native genius as he was,
+speaking out what he could not help, and revelling in the richness of
+unconscious gifts, whether for good or evil.</p>
+
+<p>Byron was a man with qualities so generous, yet so wild, that Lamartine
+was in doubt whether to call him angel or devil. But, whether angel or
+devil, his life is the saddest and most interesting among all the men of
+letters in the nineteenth century.</p>
+
+<p>Of course, most of our material comes from his Life and Letters, as
+edited by his friend and brother-poet, Thomas Moore. This biographer, I
+think, has been unwisely candid in the delineation of Byron's character,
+making revelations that would better have remained in doubt, and on
+which friendship at least should have prompted him to a
+discreet silence.</p>
+
+<p>Lord Byron was descended from the Byrons of Normandy who accompanied
+William the Conqueror in his invasion of England, of which illustrious
+lineage the poet was prouder than of his poetry. In the reign of Henry
+VIII., on the dissolution of the monasteries, a Byron came into
+possession of the old mediaeval abbey of Newstead. In the reign of James
+I., Sir John Byron was made a knight of the Order of the Bath. In 1784
+the father of the poet, a dissipated captain of the Guards, being in
+embarrassed circumstances, married a rich Scotch heiress of the name of
+Gordon. Handsome and reckless, &quot;Mad Jack Byron&quot; speedily spent his
+wife's fortune; and when he died, his widow, being reduced to a pittance
+of &pound;150 a year, retired to Scotland to live, with her infant son who had
+been born in London. She was plain Mrs. Byron, widow of a &quot;younger son,&quot;
+with but little expectation of future rank. She was a woman of caprices
+and eccentricities, and not at all fitted to superintend the education
+of her wayward boy.</p>
+
+<p>Hence the childhood and youth of Byron were sad and unfortunate. His
+temper was violent and passionate. A malformation of his foot made him
+peculiarly sensitive, and the unwise treatment of his mother, fond and
+harsh by turns, destroyed maternal authority. At five years of age, he
+was sent to a day-school in Aberdeen, where he made but slim
+attainments. Though excitable and ill-disciplined, he is said to have
+been affectionate and generous, and perfectly fearless. A fit of
+sickness rendered his removal from this school necessary, and he was
+sent to a summer resort among the Highlands. His early impressions were
+therefore favorable to the development of the imagination, coming as
+they did from mountains and valleys, rivulets and lakes, near the
+sources of the Dee. At the age of eight, he wrote verses and fell in
+love, like Dante at the age of nine.</p>
+
+<p>On the death of the grandson of the old Lord Byron in 1794, this
+unpromising youth became the heir-apparent to the barony. Nor did he
+have to wait long; for soon after, his grand-uncle died, and the young
+Byron, whose mother was struggling with poverty, became a ward of
+Chancery; and the Earl of Carlisle--one of the richest and most powerful
+noblemen of the realm, a nephew by marriage of the deceased peer--was
+appointed his guardian. This cold, formal, and politic nobleman took but
+little interest in his ward, leaving him to the mismanagement of his
+mother, who, with her boy, at the age of ten, now removed to Newstead,
+the seat of his ancestors,--the government, meanwhile, for some reason
+which is not explained, having conferred on her a pension of &pound;300
+a year.</p>
+
+<p>One of the first things that Mrs. Byron did on her removal to Newstead
+was to intrust her son to the care of a quack in Nottingham, in order to
+cure him of his lameness. As the doctor was not successful, the boy was
+removed to London with the double purpose of effecting a cure under an
+eminent surgeon, and of educating him according to his rank; for his
+education thus far had been sadly neglected, although it would appear
+that he was an omnivorous reader in a desultory kind of way. The
+lameness was never cured, and through life was a subject of bitter
+sensitiveness on his part. Dr. Glennie of Dulwich, to whose instruction
+he was now confided, found him hard to manage, because of his own
+undisciplined nature and the perpetual interference of his mother. His
+progress was so slow in Latin and Greek that at the end of two years, in
+1801, he was removed to Harrow,--one of the great public schools of
+England, of which Dr. Drury was head-master. For a year or two, owing to
+that constitutional shyness which is so often mistaken for pride, young
+Byron made but few friendships, although he had for school-fellows many
+who were afterwards distinguished, including Sir Robert Peel. Before he
+left this school for Cambridge, however, he had made many friends whom
+he never forgot, being of a very generous and loving disposition. I
+think that those years at Harrow were the happiest he ever knew, for he
+was under a strict discipline, and was too young to indulge in those
+dissipations which were the bane of his subsequent life. But he was not
+distinguished as a scholar, in the ordinary sense, although in his
+school-boy days he wrote some poetry remarkable for his years, and read
+a great many books. He read in bed, read when no one else read, read
+while eating, read all sorts of books, and was capable of great sudden
+exertions, but not of continuous drudgeries, which he always abhorred.
+In the year 1803, when a youth of fifteen, he formed a strong attachment
+for a Miss Chaworth, two years his senior, who, looking upon him as a
+mere schoolboy, treated him cavalierly, and made some slighting allusion
+to &quot;that lame boy.&quot; This treatment both saddened and embittered him.
+When he left school for college he had the reputation of being an idle
+and a wilful boy, with a very imperfect knowledge of Latin and Greek.</p>
+
+<p>Young Byron entered Trinity College in 1805, poorly prepared, and was
+never distinguished there for those attainments which win the respect of
+tutors and professors. He wasted his time, and gave himself up to
+pleasures,--riding, boating, bathing, and social hilarities,--yet
+reading more than anybody imagined, and writing poetry, for which he had
+an extraordinary facility, yet not contending for college prizes. His
+intimate friends were few, but to his chosen circle he was faithful and
+affectionate. No one at this time would have predicted his future
+eminence. A more unpromising youth did not exist within the walls of his
+college. He had a most unfortunate temper, which would have made him
+unhappy under any circumstances in which he could be placed. This
+temper, which he inherited from his mother--passionate, fitful, defiant,
+restless, wayward, melancholy--inclined him naturally to solitude, and
+often isolated him even from his friends and companions. He brooded upon
+supposed wrongs, and created in his soul strong likes and dislikes. What
+is worse, he took no pains to control this temperament; and at last it
+mastered him, drove him into every kind of folly and rashness, and made
+him appear worse than he really was.</p>
+
+<p>This inborn tendency to moodiness, pride, and recklessness should be
+considered in our estimate of Byron, and should modify any harshness of
+judgment in regard to his character, which, in some other respects, was
+interesting and noble. He was not at all envious, but frank,
+warm-hearted, and true to those he loved, who were, however, very few.
+If he had learned self-control, and had not been spoiled by his mother,
+his career might have been far different from what it was, and would
+have sustained the admiration which his brilliant genius called out
+from both high and low.</p>
+
+<p>As it was, Byron left college with dangerous habits, with no reputation
+for scholarship, with but few friends, and an uncertain future. His
+bright and witty bursts of poetry, wonderful as the youthful effusions
+of Dryden and Pope, had made him known to a small circle, but had not
+brought fame, for which his soul passionately thirsted from first to
+last. For a nobleman he was poor and embarrassed, and his youthful
+extravagances had tied up his inherited estate. He was cast upon the
+world like a ship without a rudder and without ballast. He was aspiring
+indeed, but without a plan, tired out and disgusted before he was
+twenty-one, having prematurely exhausted the ordinary pleasures of life,
+and being already inclined to that downward path which leadeth to
+destruction. This was especially marked in his relations with women,
+whom generally he flattered, despised, and deserted, as the amusements
+of an idle hour, and yet whose society he could not do without in the
+ardor of his impulsive and ungoverned affections. In that early career
+of unbridled desire for excitement and pleasure, nowhere do we see a
+sense of duty, a respect for the opinions of the good, a reverence for
+religious institutions, or self-restraint of any kind; but these defects
+were partly covered over by his many virtues and his exalted rank.</p>
+
+<p>Thus far Byron was comparatively unknown. Not yet was he even a
+favorite in society, beautiful and brilliant as he was; for he had few
+friends, not much money, and many enemies, whom he made by his scorn and
+defiance,--a born aristocrat, without having penetrated those exclusive
+circles to which his birth entitled him. He was always quarrelling with
+his mother, and was treated with indifference by his guardian. He was
+shunned by those who adhered to the conventionalities of life, and was
+pursued by bailiffs and creditors,--since his ancestral estates, small
+for his rank, were encumbered and mortgaged, and Newstead Abbey itself
+was in a state of dilapidation.</p>
+
+<p>Within a year from leaving Cambridge, in 1807, Byron published a volume
+of his juvenile poems; and although they were remarkable for a young man
+of twenty, they were not of sufficient merit to attract the attention of
+the public. At this time he was abstemious in eating, wishing to reduce
+a tendency to corpulence. He could practise self-denial if it were to
+make his person attractive, especially to ladies. Nor was he idle. His
+reading, if desultory, was vast; and from the list of books which his
+biographer has noted it would seem that Macaulay never read more than
+Byron in a given time,--all the noted historians of England, Germany,
+Rome, and Greece, with innumerable biographies, miscellanies, and even
+divinity, the raw material which he afterwards worked into his poems.
+How he found time to devour so many solid books is to me a mystery.
+These were not merely European works, but Asiatic also. He was not a
+critical scholar, but he certainly had a passing familiarity with almost
+everything in literature worth knowing, which he subsequently utilized,
+as seen in his &quot;Childe Harold's Pilgrimage.&quot; A college reputation was
+nothing to him, any more than it was to Swift, Goldsmith, Churchill,
+Gibbon, and many other famous men of letters, who left on record their
+dislike of the English system of education. Among these were even such
+men as Addison, Cowper, Milton, and Dryden, who were scholars, but who
+alike felt that college honors and native genius did not go hand in
+hand,--which might almost be regarded as the rule, but for a few
+remarkable exceptions, like Sir Robert Peel and Gladstone. And yet it
+would be unwise to decry college honors, since not one in a hundred of
+those who obtain them by their industry, aptness, and force of will can
+lay claim to what is called genius,--the rarest of all gifts. Moreover,
+how impossible it is for college professors to detect in students, with
+whom they are imperfectly acquainted, extraordinary faculties, more
+especially if the young men are apparently idle and negligent, and
+contemptuous of the college curriculum.</p>
+
+<p>It was a bitter pill for Lord Byron when his juvenile poems, called
+&quot;Hours of Idleness,&quot; were so severely attacked by the Edinburgh Review.
+They might have escaped the searching eyes of the critics had the author
+not been a lord. At that time the great Reviews had just been started;
+and it was the especial object of the Edinburgh Review to handle authors
+roughly,--to condemn and not to praise. Criticism was not then a
+science, as it became fifty years later, in the hands of Sainte-Beuve,
+who endeavored to review every production fairly and justly. There was
+nothing like justice entering into the head of Jeffrey or Sydney Smith
+or Brougham, or later on of Macaulay, whose articles were often written
+for political party effect. Critics, from the time of Swift down to the
+middle of the century, aimed to demolish enemies, and to make party
+capital; hence, as a general thing, their articles were not criticisms
+at all, but attacks. And as even an Achilles was vulnerable in his heel,
+so most intellectual giants have some weak point for the shafts of
+malice to penetrate. Yet it is the weaknesses of great men that people
+like to quote.</p>
+
+<p>If Byron was humiliated, enraged, and embittered by the severity of the
+Edinburgh Review, he was not crushed. He rallied, collected his
+unsuspected strength, and shattered his opponents by one of the
+wittiest, most brilliant, and most unscrupulous satires in our
+literature, which he called &quot;English Bards and Scotch Reviewers.&quot; At the
+height of his fame he regretted and suppressed this youthful production
+of malice and bitterness. Yet it was the beginning of his great career,
+both as to a consciousness of his own powers and in attracting the
+public attention. It was doubtless unwise, since he attacked many who
+were afterwards his friends, and since he sowed the seeds of hatred
+among those who might otherwise have been his admirers or apologists. He
+had to learn the truth that &quot;with what measure ye mete it shall be
+measured to you again.&quot; The creators of public opinion in reference to
+Byron have not been women of fashion, or men of the world, but literary
+lions themselves,--like Thackeray, who detested him, and the whole
+school of pharisaic ecclesiastical dignitaries, who abhorred in him
+sentiments which they condoned in Fielding, in Burns, in Rousseau, and
+in Voltaire.</p>
+
+<p>Before his bitter satire was published, however, Byron took his seat in
+the House of Lords, not knowing any peer sufficiently to be introduced
+by him. His guardian, Lord Carlisle, treated him very shabbily, refusing
+to furnish to the Lord Chancellor some important information, of a
+technical kind, which refusal delayed the ceremony for several weeks,
+until the necessary papers could be procured from Cornwall relating to
+the marriage of one of his ancestors. Unfriended and alone, Byron sat on
+the scarlet benches of the House of Lords until he was formally admitted
+as a peer. But when the Lord Chancellor left the woolsack to
+congratulate him, and with a smiling face extended his hand, the
+embittered young peer bowed coldly and stiffly, and simply held out two
+or three of his fingers,--an act of impudence for which there was
+no excuse.</p>
+
+<p>It is difficult to understand why Lord Byron should have had so few
+friends or even acquaintances at that time among people of his rank. At
+twenty-one, he was a lonely and solitary man, mortified by the attack of
+the Edinburgh Review, exasperated by injustice, morose even to
+misanthropy, and decidedly sceptical in his religious opinions. Newstead
+Abbey was a burden to him, since he could not keep it up. He owed
+&pound;10,000. He had no domestic ties, except to a mother with whom he could
+not live. His poetry had not brought him fame, for which of all things
+he most ardently thirsted. His love affairs were unfortunate, and tinged
+his soul with sadness and melancholy. Nor had fashion as yet marked him
+for her own. He craved excitement, and society to him was dull and
+conventional.</p>
+
+<p>It is not surprising that under these circumstances Byron made up his
+mind to travel: he did not much care whither, provided he had new
+experiences. &quot;The grand tour&quot; which educated young men of leisure and
+fortune took in that day had no charm for him, since he wished to avoid
+rather than to seek society in those cities which the English
+frequented. He did not care to see the literary lions of France or
+Germany or Italy, for though a nobleman, he was too young and
+unimportant to be much noticed, and he was too shy and too proud to make
+advances which might be rebuffed, wounding his <i>amour propre.</i></p>
+
+<p>He set out on his pilgrimage the latter part of June, 1809, in a ship
+bound for Lisbon, with a small suite of servants. Going to a land where
+Nature was most enchanting, he was sufficiently enthusiastic over the
+hills and vales and villages of Portugal. As for comfort, he expected
+little, and found less; but to this he was indifferent so long as he
+could swim in the Tagus, and ride on a mule, and procure eggs and wine.
+He was delighted with Cadiz, to him a Cythera, with its beautiful but
+uneducated women, where the wives of peasants were on a par with the
+wives of dukes in cultivation, and where the minds of both had but one
+idea,--that of intrigue. He hastily travelled through Spain on
+horseback, in August, reaching Gibraltar, from which he embarked for
+Malta and the East.</p>
+
+<p>It was Greece and Turkey that Byron most wished to see and know; and,
+favored by introductions, he was cordially received by governors and
+pashas. At Athens, and other classical spots, he lingered enchanted, yet
+suppressing his enthusiasm in the contempt he had for the affected
+raptures of ordinary travellers. It was not the country alone, with its
+classical associations, which interested him, but also its maidens, with
+their dark hair and eyes, whom he idealized almost into goddesses.
+Everything he saw was picturesque, unique, and fascinating. The days and
+weeks flew rapidly away in dreamy enchantment.</p>
+
+<p>After nearly three months at Athens, Byron embarked for Smyrna, and
+explored the ruins of the old Ionian cities, thence proceeding to
+Constantinople, with a view of visiting Persia and the farther East. In
+a letter to Mr. Henry Drury, he says:--</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I have left my home, and seen part of Africa and Asia, and a tolerable
+portion of Europe. I have been with generals and admirals, princes and
+pashas, governors and ungovernables. Albania, indeed, I have seen more
+than any Englishman, except Mr. Leake,--a country rarely visited, from
+the savage character of the natives, but abounding more in natural
+beauties than the classical regions of Greece.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>A glimpse of Byron's inner life at this time is caught in the following
+extract from a letter to another friend:</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I have now been nearly a year abroad, and hope you will find me an
+altered personage,--I do not mean in body, but in manners; for I begin
+to find out that nothing but virtue will do in this d--d world. I am
+tolerably sick of vice, which I have tried in its agreeable varieties,
+and mean on my return to cut all my dissolute acquaintance, leave off
+wine and carnal company, and betake myself to politics and decorum.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>One thing we notice in most of the familiar letters of Byron,--that he
+makes frequent use of a vulgar expletive. But when I remember that the
+Prince of Wales, the Lord Chancellor, the judges, the lawyers, the
+ministers of the Crown, and many other distinguished people were
+accustomed to use the same expression, I would fain hope that it was not
+meant for profanity, but was a sort of fashionable slang intended only
+to be emphatic. Fifty years have seen a great improvement in the use of
+language, and the vulgarism which then appeared to be of slight
+importance is now regarded, almost universally with gentlemen, to be at
+least in very bad taste. How far Byron transgressed beyond the frequent
+use of this expletive, does not appear either in his letters or in his
+biography; yet from his irreverent nature, and the society with which he
+was associated, it is more than probable that in him profanity was
+added to the other vices of his times.</p>
+
+<p>Especially did he indulge in drinking to excess in all convivial
+gatherings. It was seldom that gentlemen sat down to a banquet without
+each despatching two or three bottles of wine in the course of an
+evening. No wonder that gout was the pervading disease among county
+squires, and even among authors and statesman. Morality was not one of
+the features of English society one hundred years ago, except as it
+consisted in a scrupulous regard for domesticity, truth, and honor, and
+abhorrence of meanness and hypocrisy.</p>
+
+<p>It would be difficult to point out any defects and excesses of which
+Byron was guilty at this period beyond what were common to other
+fashionable young men of rank and leisure, except a spirit of religious
+scepticism and impiety, and a wanton and inexcusable recklessness in
+regard to women, which made him a slave to his passions. The first
+alienated him, so far as he was known, from the higher respectable
+classes, who generally were punctilious in the outward observances of
+religion; and the second made him abhorred by the virtuous middle class,
+who never condoned his transgressions in this respect. But at this time
+his character was not generally known. It was not until he was seated on
+the pinnacle of fame that public curiosity penetrated the scandals of
+his private life. He was known only as a young nobleman in quest of the
+excitements of foreign travel, and his letters of introduction procured
+him all the society he craved. Not yet had he expressed bitterness and
+wrath against the country which gave him birth; he simply found England
+dull, and craved adventures in foreign lands as unlike England as he
+could find. The East stimulated his imagination, and revived his
+classical associations. He saw the Orient only as an enthusiastic poet
+would see it, and as Lamartine saw Jerusalem. But Byron was more curious
+about the pagan cities of antiquity than concerning the places
+consecrated by the sufferings of our Lord. He cared more to swim across
+the Hellespont with Leander than to wander over the sacred hills of
+Judaea; to idealize a beautiful peasant girl among the ruins of Greece,
+than converse with the monks of Palestine in their gloomy retreats.</p>
+
+<p>The result of Byron's travels was seen in the first two cantos of
+&quot;Childe Harold,&quot; showing alike the fertility of his mind and the
+aspirations of a lofty genius. These were published in 1812, soon after
+his return to England, at the age of twenty-four. They took England by
+storm, creating both surprise and admiration. Public curiosity and
+enthusiasm for the young poet, who had mounted to the front ranks of
+literature at a single leap, was unbounded and universal. As he himself
+wrote: &quot;I awoke one morning and found myself famous.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Young Byron was now sought, courted, and adored, especially by ladies of
+the highest rank. Everybody was desirous to catch even a glimpse of the
+greatest poet that had appeared since Pope and Dryden; any palace or
+drawing-room he desired to enter was open to him. He was surfeited with
+roses and praises and incense. He alone took precedence over Scott and
+Coleridge and Moore and Campbell. For a time his pre-eminence in
+literature was generally conceded. He was the foremost man of letters of
+his day, and the greatest popular idol. His rank added to his <i>&eacute;clat</i>,
+since not many noblemen were distinguished for genius or literary
+excellence. His singular beauty of face and person, despite his slight
+lameness, attracted the admiring gaze of women. What Ab&eacute;lard was in the
+schools of philosophy, Byron was in the drawing-rooms of London. People
+forgot his antecedents, so far as they were known, in the intoxication
+of universal admiration and unbounded worship of genius. No poet in
+English history was ever seated on a prouder throne, and no heathen
+deity was ever more indifferent than he to the incense of idolaters.</p>
+
+<p>Far be it from me to attempt an analysis of the merits of the poem with
+which the fame of Byron will be forever identified. Its great merits
+are universally conceded; and while it has defects,--great inequalities
+in both style and matter; some stanzas supernal in beauty, and others
+only mediocre,--on the whole, the poem is extraordinary. Byron adopted
+the Spenserian measure,--perhaps the most difficult of all measures,
+hard even to read aloud,--in which blank verse seems to blend with
+rhyme. It might be either to the ear, though to the eye it is elaborate
+rhyme,--such as would severely task a made poet, but which this born
+poet seems to have thrown off without labor. The leading peculiarity of
+the poem is description,--of men and places; of the sea, the mountain,
+and the river; of Nature in her loveliness and mysteries; of cities and
+battle-fields consecrated by the heroism of brave and gifted men, in
+Greece, in Rome, in mediaeval Europe,--with swift passing glances at
+salient points in history, showing extensive reading and deep
+meditation.</p>
+
+<p>As to the spirit of &quot;Childe Harold,&quot; it is not satirical; it is more
+pensive than bitter, and reveals the loneliness and sorrows of an
+unsatisfied soul,--the unrest of a pilgrim in search for something new.
+It seeks to penetrate the secrets of struggling humanity, at war often
+with those certitudes which are the consolation of our inner life. It
+everywhere recognizes the soul as that which gives greatest dignity to
+man. It invokes love as the noblest joy of life. The poem is one of the
+most ideal of human productions, soaring beyond what is material and
+transient. It is not religious, not reverential, not Christian, like the
+&quot;Divine Comedy&quot; and the &quot;Paradise Lost;&quot; and yet it is lofty, aspiring,
+exulting in what is greatest in deed or song, destined to immortality of
+fame and admiration. It is a confession, indirectly, of the follies and
+shortcomings of the author, and of their retribution, but complains
+not of the Nemesis that avenges everything. It is sensitive of
+wrongs and injustices and misrepresentations, but does not hurl
+anathemas,--speaking in sorrow rather than in anger, except in regard to
+hypocrisies and shams and lies, when its scorn is intense and terrible.</p>
+
+<p>The whole poem is brilliant and original, but does not flash like fire
+in a dark night. It was written with the heart's blood, and is as
+earnest as it is penetrating. It does not ascend to the higher mysteries
+forever veiled from mortal eye, nor descend to the deepest depths of
+hatred and despair, but confines itself to those passions which have
+marked gifted mortals, and those questionings in which all thoughtful
+minds have ever delighted. It does not make revelations like &quot;Hamlet&quot; or
+&quot;Macbeth;&quot; it does not explore secrets hidden forever from ordinary
+minds, like &quot;Faust;&quot; but it muses and meditates on what Fate and Time
+have brought to pass,--such events as have been revealed in history. It
+invokes the neglected but impressive monuments of antiquity to tell the
+tales of glory and of shame. In moral wisdom it is vastly inferior to
+Shakspeare, and it is not rich in those wise and striking lines which
+pass into the proverbs of the world; but it has the glow of a poetic
+soul, longing for fame, craving love, and not unmindful of immortality.
+Its most beautiful stanzas are full of tenderness and sadness for lost
+or unrequited affections; of reproachless sorrow for broken friendships,
+in which the soul would fain have lived but for inconsistencies and
+contradictions which made true and permanent love impossible. The poem
+paints a paradise lost, rather than a paradise regained. I wonder at its
+popularity, for it seems to me too deep and learned for popular
+appreciation, except in those stanzas where pathos or enthusiasm,
+expressed in matchless language, appeal to the heart and soul.</p>
+
+<p>Of all modern poets, Byron is the most human and outspoken, daring to
+say what many would fear or blush to meditate upon. He fearlessly
+reveals the infirmities and audacities of a double and mysterious
+nature, made up of dust and deity, now grovelling in the mire, then
+borne aloft to the skies,--the football of the eternal powers of good
+and evil, enslaved and yet to be emancipated, as we may hope, in the
+last and final struggle, when the soul is rescued by Omnipotence.</p>
+
+<p>I have alluded to the triumphs of Byron on the publication of &quot;Childe
+Harold,&quot;--but his joys were more than balanced by his sorrows. His
+mother died suddenly without seeing him. His dearest friend Mathews was
+drowned. He was hampered by creditors. He made no mark in the House of
+Lords, and was sick of what he called &quot;parliamentary mummeries.&quot; His
+habits became more and more dissipated among the boon companions who
+courted his society. His reputation after a while began to wane, for
+people became ashamed of their enthusiasm. Some critics disparaged his
+poetry, and conventional circles were shocked by his morals. Three years
+of London life told on his constitution, and he was completely
+disenchanted. He sought retirement and solitude, for not even the most
+brilliant society satisfied him. He wearied of such a woman and admirer
+as Madame de Sta&euml;l. He went to Holland House--that resort of all the
+eminent ones of the time--as seldom as he could. He buried himself with
+a few intimate friends, chiefly poets, among whom were Moore and Rogers.
+He saw and liked Sir Walter Scott, but did not push his acquaintance to
+intimacy. The larger part of his letters were written to Murray, the
+publisher, who treated him generously; but Byron gave away his literary
+gains to personal friends in need. He seemed to scorn copyrights for
+support. He would write only for fame.</p>
+
+<p>At the age of twenty-seven, in January, 1815, Byron married Miss
+Milbanke,--a lady whom he did not love, but to whom he was attracted by
+her supposed wealth, which would patch up his own fortunes. He had great
+respect for this lady and some friendship; but with all her virtues and
+attainments she was cold, conventional, and exacting. A mystery shrouds
+this unfortunate affair, which has never been fully revealed. The upshot
+was that, to Byron's inexpressible humiliation, in less than a year she
+left him, never to return. No reasons were given. It was enough that
+both parties were unhappy, and had cause to be; and both kept silence.</p>
+
+<p>But the voice of rumor and scandal was not silent. All the failings of
+Byron were now exaggerated and dwelt upon by those who envied him, and
+by those who hated him,--for his enemies were more numerous than his
+friends. Those whom he had snubbed or ridiculed or insulted now openly
+turned against him. The conventional public had a rare subject for their
+abuse or indignation. Proper people, religious people, and commonplace
+people, joined in the cry against a man with whom a virtuous woman could
+not live. Indeed, no woman could have lived happily with Byron; and
+very few were the women with whom he could have lived happily, by reason
+of that irritability and unrest which is so common with genius. The
+habits of abstraction and contemplation which absorbed much of his time
+at home were not easily understood by an ordinary woman, to whom social
+life is necessary.</p>
+
+<p>Byron lived much in his library, which was his solitary luxury. In the
+revelry of the imagination his heart became cold. &quot;To follow poetry,&quot;
+says Pope, &quot;one must leave father and mother, and cleave to it
+alone,&quot;--as Dante and Petrarch and Milton did. Not even Byron's intense
+craving for affection could be satisfied when he was dwelling on the
+ideals which his imagination created, and which scarcely friendship
+could satisfy. Even so good a man as Carlyle lived among his books
+rather than in the society of his wife, whom he really loved, and whose
+virtues and attainments he appreciated and admired. An affectionate
+woman runs a great risk in marrying an absorbed and preoccupied man of
+genius, even if his character be reproachless. Unfortunately, the
+character of Byron was anything but reproachless, and no one knew this
+better than his wife, which knowledge doubtless alienated what little
+affection she had for him. He seems to have sought low company even
+after his marriage, and Lady Byron has intimated that she did not think
+him altogether sane. Living with him as his wife was insupportable; but
+though she separated from him, she did not seek a divorce.</p>
+
+<p>Byron would not have married at all if he had consulted his happiness,
+and still more his fame. &quot;In reviewing the great names of philosophy and
+science, we shall find that those who have most distinguished themselves
+have virtually admitted their own unfitness for the marriage tie by
+remaining in celibacy,--Newton, Gassendi, Galileo, Descartes, Bayle,
+Locke, Leibnitz, Boyle, Hume, Gibbon, Macaulay, and a host of others.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The scandal which Byron's separation from his wife created, and his
+known and open profligacy, at last shut him out from the society of
+which he had been so bright an ornament. It is a peculiarity of the
+English people, which redounds to their honor, to exclude from public
+approbation any man, however gifted or famous, who has outraged the
+moral sense by open and ill-disguised violation of the laws of morality.
+The cases of Dilke and Parnell in our own day are illustrations known to
+all. What in France or Italy is condoned, is never pardoned or forgotten
+in England. Not even a Voltaire, a Rousseau, or a Mirabeau, had they
+lived in England, could have been accepted by English society,--much
+less a man who scorned and ridiculed it. Even Byron--for a few years
+the pet, the idol, and the glory of the country--was not too high to
+fall. To quote one of his own stanzas,--</p>
+
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&quot;He who ascends to mountain-tops shall find<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The loftiest peaks most wrapt in clouds and snow;<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; He who surpasses or subdues mankind<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Must look down on the hate of those below.<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Though high above the sun of glory glow,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And far beneath the earth and ocean spread,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Round him are icy rocks, and loudly blow<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Contending tempests on his naked head.&quot;<br>
+
+<p>Embarrassed in his circumstances; filled with disgust, mortification,
+and shame; excluded from the proudest circles,--Byron now resolved to
+leave England forever, and bury himself in such foreign lands as were
+most congenial to his tastes and habits. But for his immorality he might
+still have shined at an exalted height; for he had not yet written
+anything which shocked the practical English mind. The worst he had
+written was bitter satire, yet not more bitter than that of Swift or
+Pope. No defiance, no blasphemous sentiments, or what seemed to many to
+be such, had yet escaped him. His &quot;Corsair&quot; and his &quot;Bride of Abydos&quot;
+appeared soon after the &quot;Childe Harold,&quot; and added to his fame by their
+exquisite melody of rhyme and sentimental admiration for Oriental
+life,--though even these were tinged with that <i>abandon</i> which
+afterwards made his latter poems a scandal and reproach. &quot;The
+disappointment of youthful passion, the lassitude and remorse of
+premature excess, the lone friendlessness of his life,&quot; and, I may add,
+the reproaches of society, induced him to fly from the scene of his
+brilliant successes, filled with blended sentiments of scorn, hatred,
+defiance, and despair.</p>
+
+<p>In the Spring of 1816, at the age of twenty-eight, Byron left England
+forever,--a voluntary exile on the face of the earth, saddened,
+embittered, and disappointed. It was to Italy that he turned his steps,
+passing through Brussels and Flanders, lingering on the Rhine, enamored
+with its ruined castles, still more with Nature, and making a long stay
+in Switzerland. Here he visited the Castle of Chillon, all the spots
+made memorable by the abodes of Rousseau, Gibbon, and Madame de Sta&euml;l,
+and all the most interesting scenery of the Bernese Alps,--Lake Leman,
+Interlaken, Thun, the Jungfrau, the glaciers, Brientz, Chamouni, Berne,
+and on to Geneva, where he made the acquaintance of Shelley and his
+wife. The Shelleys he found most congenial, and stayed with them some
+time. While in the neighborhood of Geneva he produced the third canto of
+&quot;Childe Harold,&quot; &quot;The Prisoner of Chillon,&quot; &quot;A Dream,&quot; and other things.
+In October, he passed on to Milan, Verona, and Venice; and in this
+latter city he took up his residence.</p>
+
+<p>Oh that we could blot out Byron's life in Venice, made up of love
+adventures and dissipation and utter abandonment to those pleasures that
+appealed to his lower nature, as if he were possessed by a demon,
+utterly reckless of his health, his character, and his fame! Venice was
+then the most immoral city in Italy, given over to idleness and
+pleasure. It was here that Byron's contempt for woman became fixed,
+seeing only her weaknesses and follies; and it was this contempt of
+woman which intensified the abhorrence in which his character was
+generally held, in the most respectable circles in England. Even in
+distant Venice his baleful light was not under a bushel, and the
+scandals of his life extended far and wide,--especially that in
+reference to Margherita Cogni, an illiterate virago who could neither
+read nor write, and whom he was finally compelled to discard on account
+of the violence of her temper, after living with her in the most
+open manner.</p>
+
+<p>And yet, in all this degradation, he was not idle. How could so prolific
+a writer be idle! Byron did not ordinarily rise till two o'clock in the
+afternoon, and spent the interval between his breakfast and dinner in
+riding on the Lido,--one of those long narrow islands which lie between
+the Adriatic and the Lagoon, in the midst of which Venice is built, on
+the islets arising from its shallow waters. Yet he found time to begin
+his &quot;Don Juan,&quot; besides writing the &quot;Lament of Tasso,&quot; the tragedy of
+&quot;Manfred,&quot; and an Armenian grammar, all which appeared in 1817; in 1818,
+&quot;Beppo,&quot; and in 1819, &quot;Mazeppa.&quot; He also made a flying trip to Florence
+and Rome, and some of the finest stanzas of &quot;Childe Harold&quot; are
+descriptions of the classic ruins and the masterpieces of Grecian and
+mediaeval art,--the beauties and the associations of Italy's
+great cities.</p>
+
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&quot;I stood in Venice on the Bridge of Sighs;<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; A palace and a prison on each hand:<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; I saw from out the wave her structures rise<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; As from the stroke of the enchanter's wand!<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; A thousand years their cloudy wings expand<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Around me, and a dying glory smiles<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; O'er the far times, when many a subject land<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Looked to the wing&egrave;d Lion's marble piles,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Where Venice sate in state, throned on her hundred isles!&quot;<br>
+
+<p>Byron's correspondence was small, being chiefly confined to his
+publisher, to Moore, and to a few intimate friends. These letters are
+interesting because of their frankness and wit, although they are not
+models of fine writing. Indeed, I do not know where to find any
+specimens of masterly prose in all his compositions. He was simply a
+poet, facile in every form of measure from Spenser to Campbell. No
+remarkable prose writings appeared in England at all, at that time,
+until Sir Walter Scott's novels were written, and until Macaulay,
+Carlyle, and Lamb wrote their inimitable essays. Nothing is more heavy
+and unartistic than Moore's &quot;Life of Byron;&quot; there is hardly a brilliant
+paragraph in it,--and yet Moore is one of the most musical and melodious
+of all the English poets. Milton, indeed, was equally great in prose and
+verse, but very few men have been distinguished as prose writers and
+poets at the same time. Sir Walter Scott and Southey are the most
+remarkable exceptions. I think that Macaulay could have been
+distinguished as a poet, if he had so pleased; but he would have been a
+literary poet like Wordsworth or Tennyson or Coleridge,--not a man who
+sings out of his soul because he cannot help it, like Byron or Burns, or
+like Whittier among our American poets.</p>
+
+<p>It was not until 1819, when Byron had been three years in Venice, that
+he fell in love with the Countess Guiccioli, the wife of one of the
+richest nobles of Italy,--young, beautiful, and interesting. This love
+seems to have been disinterested and lasting; and while it was a
+violation of all the rules of morality, and would not have been allowed
+in any other country than Italy, it did not further degrade him. It was
+pretty much such a love as Voltaire had for Madame de Ch&acirc;telet; and with
+it he was at last content. There is no evidence that Byron ever afterward
+loved any other woman; and what is very singular about the affair
+is that it was condoned by the husband, until it became a scandal
+even in Italy.</p>
+
+<p>The countess was taken ill on her way to Ravenna, and thither Byron
+followed her, and lived in the same palace with her,--the palace of her
+husband, who courted the poet's society, and who afterward left his
+young countess to free intercourse with Byron at Bologna,--not without a
+compensation in revenue, which was more disgraceful than the amour
+itself. About this time Byron would probably have returned to England
+but for the enchantment which enslaved him. He could not part from the
+countess, nor she from him.</p>
+
+<p>The Pope pronounced the separation of the count from his wife, and she
+returned to her father's house on a pittance of &pound;200 a year. She
+sacrificed everything for the young English poet,--her splendid home,
+her relatives, her honor, and her pride. Never was there a sadder
+episode in the life of a man of letters. If Byron had married such a
+woman in his early life, how different might have been his history! With
+such a love as she inspired, had he been faithful to it, he might have
+lived in radiant happiness, the idol and the pride of all admirers of
+genius wherever the English language is spoken, seated on a throne
+which kings might envy. So much have circumstances to do with human
+destinies! Since Ab&eacute;lard, never was there a man more capable of a
+genuine fervid love than Byron; and yet he threw himself away. He was
+his own worst enemy, and all from an ill-regulated nature which he
+inherited both from his father and his mother, with no Mentor to whom he
+would listen. And thus his star sunk down in the eternal shades,--a
+fallen Lucifer expelled from bliss.</p>
+
+<p>I would not condone the waywardness and vices of Byron, or weaken the
+eternal distinctions between right and wrong. The impression I wish to
+convey is that there were two very distinctly marked sides to his
+character; that his conduct was not without palliations, in view of his
+surroundings, the force of his temptations, and his wayward nature,
+uncurbed by parental care or early training, indeed rather goaded on by
+the unfortunate conditions of his youth to find consolation in doing as
+he liked, without regard to duty or the opinions of society. Born with
+the keenest sensibilities, with emotive powers of tremendous sweep and
+force; neglected, crossed, mortified, with no wise guidance,--he was
+driven in upon himself, and developed an intense self-will, which would
+endure no control. Unhappy will be the future of that man, however
+amiable, affectionate, and generous, who, whether from neglect in
+youth, like Byron, or from sheer wilfulness in manhood, determines to
+act as the mood takes him, because he has freedom of will, without
+regard to the social restraints imposed upon conscience by the unwritten
+law, which pursues him wherever he goes, even should he fly to the
+uttermost parts of the earth. No one can escape from moral
+accountability, whether in a seductive paradise, or in a dungeon, or in
+a desert. The only stability, for society must be in the character of
+its individual members. Before pleasure comes duty,--to family, to
+friends, to country, to self, and to the Maker.</p>
+
+<p>This sense of moral accountability Byron seems never to have had, in
+regard to anybody or anything, his self-indulgence culminating in an
+egotism melancholy to behold. He would go where he pleased, say what he
+pleased, write as he pleased, do what he pleased, without any
+constraint, whether in opposition or not to the customs and rules of
+society, his own welfare, or the laws of God. It was moral madness
+pursuing him to destruction,--the logical and necessary sequence of
+unrestrained self-will, sometimes assuming the form of angelic
+loveliness and inspiration in the eyes of his idolaters. No counsellor
+guided him wiser than Moore or Shelley. Even the worldly advice of
+Rogers and Madame de Sta&euml;l was thrown away, whenever they presumed to
+counsel him. Nobody could influence him. His abandonment to fitful
+labors or pleasures was alike his glory and his shame. After a day of
+frivolity he would consume the midnight hours in the intensest studies,
+stimulated by gin, to awake in the morning in lassitude or pain,--for
+work he must, as well as play. The consequence of this burning the
+candle at both ends was failing health and diminished energies, until
+his short race was run. He had produced more poetry at thirty-four years
+of age than any other English poet at the age of fifty,--some of almost
+transcendent merit, but more of questionable worth, though not of
+questionable power. Aside from the &quot;Childe Harold,&quot; the &quot;Hebrew
+Melodies,&quot; the &quot;Prisoner of Chillon,&quot; and perhaps the &quot;Corsair,&quot; the
+&quot;Bride of Abydos,&quot; &quot;Lara,&quot; and the &quot;Siege of Corinth,&quot; the rest,
+excepting minor poems, however beautiful in measure and grand in
+thought, give a shock to the religious or to the moral sentiments.
+&quot;Cain&quot; and &quot;Manfred&quot; are regarded as almost blasphemous, though probably
+not so meant to be by the poet, in view of the stirring questions of
+Grecian tragedy; while the longest of his poems, &quot;Don Juan,&quot; is an
+insult to womanhood and a disgrace to genius; for although containing
+some of the most exquisite touches of description and finest flights of
+poetic feeling, its theme is along the lowest level of human passion.</p>
+
+<p>Whatever Byron wrote was unhesitatingly published and read, whether
+good or evil, whatever were those follies and defiances which excluded
+him from the best society; and it is a matter of surprise to me that any
+noted and wealthy publisher could be found, in respectable and
+conventional England, venal enough to publish perhaps the most
+corrupting poem in our language,--worse than anything which Boccaccio
+wrote for his Italian readers, or anything which plain-spoken Fielding
+and the dramatists of the reign of Charles II. ever allowed to go into
+print; for though they were coarser in their language, they were not so
+seductive in their spirit, and did not poison the soul like &quot;Don Juan,&quot;
+the very name of which has become a synonym for extreme depravity. That
+abominable poem was read because Lord Byron wrote it, and because its
+immorality was slightly veiled by the beauty of the language, even when
+a copy could not be found on the table of any respectable drawing-room,
+and the name of the author was seldom mentioned except with stern and
+honest censure. It is perhaps fair to quote Murray's own words, throwing
+the responsibility on the public: &quot;They talked of his immoral writings;
+but there is a whole row of sermons glued to my shelf. I hate the sight
+of them. Why don't they buy those?&quot; A fair enough retort; and yet, like
+the newspaper purveyors of the records of vice in our own day, the
+publisher was responsible for making the vile stuff accessible, and thus
+debasing the public taste.</p>
+
+<p>How different was Byron's painting of Spanish life from that of the
+immortal Cervantes, whom Lowell places among the five master geniuses of
+the world! In &quot;Don Quixote&quot; there is not a sentence which does not exalt
+woman, or which degrades man. A lofty ideal of purity and chivalrous
+honor permeates every page, even in the most ludicrous scenes. The whole
+work blazes with wit, and with the wisdom of a proverbial philosophy,
+uttered by the ignorant squire of a fanatical and bewildered knight; but
+amidst the practical jokes and follies of all the characters in that
+marvellous work of fiction, we see also a moral beauty, idealized of
+course, such as was rivalled only in Spanish art in the Madonnas of
+Murillo. I believe that in the imaginary sketches of Spanish life as
+portrayed by Byron, slanders and lies deface the poem from beginning to
+end. Who is the best authority for truthfulness in the description of
+Spanish people, Cervantes or Byron? The spiritual loftiness portrayed in
+the lives of Spanish heroes and heroines, mixed up as it was with the
+most ludicrous pictures of common life, has made the Spaniard's work of
+fiction one of the most treasured and enduring monuments of human fame;
+whereas the insulting innuendoes of the English poet have gone far to
+rob him of the glory which he had justly won in his earlier productions,
+and to make his name a doubt. If, in the course of generations yet to
+come, the evil which Byron did by that one poem alone shall be forgotten
+in the services he rendered to our literature by other works, which
+cannot die, then he may some day be received into the Pantheon of the
+benefactors of mind.</p>
+
+<p>I would speak with less vehemence in reference to those poems which are
+generally supposed to be permeated with defiance, scorn, and
+misanthropy. In &quot;Manfred&quot; and &quot;Cain,&quot; it was with Byron a work of art to
+describe the utterances of impious spirits against the sovereign rule of
+God. Had he not fallen from high estate as an interpreter of the soul,
+the critics might have seen here nothing more to condemn than in some of
+the Grecian tragedies, many passages in the &quot;Paradise Lost,&quot; and in the
+general spirit of &quot;Faust.&quot; It is no proof that he was a blasphemer in
+his heart because he painted blasphemy. To describe a wanderer on the
+face of the earth, driven hither and thither by pursuing vengeance as
+the first recorded murderer, the poet was obliged by all the rules of
+art to put such sentiments into his mouth as accorded with his
+unrepented crime and his dreadful agonies of mind and soul. Where is the
+proof that they were <i>his own</i> agonies, remorse, despair? Surely, we may
+pardon in Byron what we excuse in Goethe in the delineation of unique
+characters,--the great creations which belong to the realm of the
+imagination alone. The imputation that the sayings of his fallen fiends
+were the cherished sentiments of the poet himself, may have been one
+cause of his contempt for the average intelligence of his countrymen,
+and for their inveterate and incurable prejudices. Nothing in Dante is
+more intense and concentrated in language than the malediction of Eve
+upon her fratricidal son:--</p>
+
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&quot;May the grass wither from thy feet! the woods<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Deny thee shelter! earth a home! the dust<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; A gravel the Sun his light! and Heaven her God!&quot;<br>
+
+<p>Yet the reader feels the naturalness of this bitter cursing of her own
+son by the frenzied mother. How could a great artist like Byron put
+sentiments into the mouth of Cain such as would be harmless in the
+essays of a country parson? If he painted Lucifer, he must make him
+speak like Lucifer, not like a theological professor. Nothing could be
+more ungenerous and narrow than to abuse Byron for a dramatic poem in
+which some of his characters were fiends rather than men. We have no
+more right to say that he was an infidel because Cain or Lucifer
+blasphemed, than to say that Goethe was an atheist because
+Mephistopheles denied God.</p>
+
+<p>If Byron had avowed atheistical opinions in letters or conversations,
+that would be another thing; but there is no evidence that he did, and
+much to the contrary. A few months before he died he was visited by a
+pious crank, who out of curiosity or Christian zeal sought to know his
+theological views. Byron treated him with the greatest courtesy, and
+freely communicated his opinions on religious subjects,--from which it
+would appear that he differed from church people generally only on the
+matter of eternal punishment, which he did not believe was consistent
+with infinite love or infinite justice. Perhaps it would have been wiser
+if he had not written &quot;Cain&quot; at all, considering how many readers there
+are without brains, and how large was the class predisposed to judge him
+harshly in everything. No doubt he was irreligious and sceptical, but it
+does not follow from this that he was atheistical or blasphemous.</p>
+
+<p>There is doubtless a misanthropic vein in all Byron's later poetry which
+is not wholesome for many people to read,--especially in &quot;Manfred,&quot; one
+of the bitterest of his productions by reason of sorrows and
+disappointments and misrepresentations. It was Byron's misfortune to
+appear worse than he really was, owing to his unconcealed contempt for
+the opinions of mankind. Yet he could not complain that he reaped what
+he had not sown. Some of his biographers thought him to be at this time
+even morbidly desirous of a bad reputation,--going so far as to write
+paragraphs against himself in foreign journals, and being filled with
+glee at the joke, when they were republished in English newspapers. He
+despised and defied all conventionalities, and conventional England
+dropped him from her list of favorites.</p>
+
+<p>The life of Byron, strange to say, was less exposed to scandal after he
+made the acquaintance of the countess who enslaved him, and who was also
+enslaved in turn. His heart now opened to many noble sentiments. He
+returned, in a degree, to society, and gave dinners and suppers. He
+associated with many distinguished patriots and men of genius. He had a
+strong sympathy with the Italians in their struggle for freedom. One
+quarter of his income he devoted to charities. He was regular in his
+athletic exercises, and could swim four hours at a time; he was always
+proud of swimming across the Hellespont. He was devoted to his natural
+daughter, and educated her in a Catholic school. He studied more
+severely all works of art, though his admiration for art was never so
+great as it was for Nature. The glories and wonders of Nature inspired
+him with perpetual joys. There is nothing finer in all his poetry than
+the following stanza:--</p>
+
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&quot;Ye stars! which are the poetry of Heaven,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; If in your bright leaves we would read the fate<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Of men and empires,--'t is to be forgiven<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; That in our aspirations to be great<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Our destinies o'erleap their mortal state,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And claim a kindred with you; for ye are<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; A beauty and a mystery, and create<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; In us such love and reverence from afar,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;That fortune, fame, power, life, have named themselves a star.&quot;<br>
+
+<p>There never was a time when Byron did not seek out beautiful retreats in
+Nature as the source of his highest happiness. Hence, solitude was
+nothing to him when he could commune with the works of God. His
+biographer declares that in 1821 &quot;he was greatly improved in every
+respect,--in genius, in temper, in moral views, in health and happiness.
+He has had mischievous passions, but these he seems to have subdued.&quot; He
+was always temperate in his diet, living chiefly on fish and vegetables;
+and if he drank more wine and spirits than was good for him, it was to
+rally his exhausted energies. His powers of production were never
+greater than at this period, but his literary labors were slowly wearing
+him out. He could not live without work, while pleasure palled upon him.
+In a letter to a stranger who sought to convert him, he showed anything
+but anger or contempt. &quot;Do me,&quot; says he, &quot;the justice to suppose, that
+<i>Video meliora proboque</i>, however the <i>deteriora sequor</i> may have been
+applied to my conduct.&quot; Writing to Murray in 1822, he says: &quot;It is not
+impossible that I may have three or four cantos of 'Don Juan' ready by
+autumn, as I obtained a permission from my dictatress [the Countess
+Guiccioli] to continue it,--provided always it was to be more guarded
+and decorous in the continuation than in the commencement.&quot; Alas, he
+could not undo the mischief he had done!</p>
+
+<p>About this time Byron received a visit from Lord Clare, his earliest
+friend at Cambridge, to whom through life he was devotedly attached,--a
+friendship which afforded exceeding delight. He never forgot his few
+friends, although he railed at his enemies. He was ungenerously treated
+by Leigh Hunt, to whom he rendered every kindness. He says,--</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I have done all I could for him since he came here [Genoa], but it is
+all most useless. His wife is ill, his six children far from tractable,
+and in worldly affairs he himself is a child. The death of Shelley left
+them totally aground; and I could not see them in such a state without
+using the common feelings of humanity, and what means were in my power,
+to set them afloat again.... As to any community of feeling, thought, or
+opinion between him and me there is little or none; but I think him a
+good-principled man, and must do as I would be done by.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Toward Shelley, Byron entertained the greatest respect and affection for
+his suavity, gentleness, and good breeding; and Shelley's accidental
+death was a great shock to him. Among his other intimate acquaintances
+in Italy were Lord and Lady Blessington, with whom he kept up a pleasant
+correspondence. The most plaintive, sad, and generous of all his letters
+was the one he wrote to Lady Byron from Pisa, in 1821, in acknowledgment
+of the receipt of a tress of his daughter Ada's hair:--</p>
+
+<p>&quot;The time which has elapsed since our separation has been considerably
+more than the whole brief period of our union and of our prior
+acquaintance. We both made a bitter mistake; but now it is over, and
+irrecoverably so.... But this very impossibility of reunion seems to me
+at least a reason why on all the few points of discussion which can
+arise between us, we should preserve the courtesies of life, and as much
+of its kindness as people who are never to meet may preserve more easily
+than nearer connections.... I assure you I bear you now no resentment
+whatever. Whether the offence has been solely on my side, or reciprocal,
+or on yours chiefly, I have ceased to reflect upon any but two
+things,--that you are the mother of my child, and that we shall never
+meet again.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>At this period, about a year before Byron's death, Moore thus writes:--</p>
+
+<p>&quot;To the world, and more especially England, he presented himself in no
+other aspect than that of a stern, haughty misanthrope, self-banished
+from the society of men, and most of all from that of Englishmen. The
+more beautiful and genial inspirations of his muse were looked upon but
+as lucid intervals between the paroxysms of an inherent malignancy of
+nature. But how totally all this differed from the Byron of the social
+hour, they who lived in familiar intercourse with him may be safely left
+to tell. As it was, no English gentleman ever approached him with the
+common forms of introduction, that did not come away at once surprised
+and charmed by the kind courtesy of his manners, the unpretending play
+of his conversation, and on nearer intercourse the frank, youthful
+spirits, to the flow of which he gave way with such zest as to produce
+the impression that gaiety was after all the true bent of his
+disposition.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Scott, writing of him after his death, says,--</p>
+
+<p>&quot;In talents he was unequalled; and his faults were those rather of a
+bizarre temper, arising from an eager and irritable nervous habit, than
+any depravity of disposition. He was devoid of selfishness, which I take
+to be the basest ingredient in the human composition. He was generous,
+humane, and noble-minded, when passion did not blind him.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>About this time, 1823, the great struggle of the Greeks to shake off the
+Ottoman yoke was in progress. I have already in another volume[1]
+attempted to give the facts in relation to that memorable movement.
+Christendom sympathized with the gallant but apparently hopeless
+struggle of a weak nation to secure its independence, both from a
+sentiment of admiration for the freedom of ancient Greece in the period
+of its highest glories, and from the love of liberty which animated the
+liberal classes amid the political convulsions of the day. But the
+governments of Europe were loath to complicate the difficulties which
+existed between nations in that stormy period, and dared not extend any
+open aid to struggling Greece, beyond giving their moral aid to the
+Greek cause, lest it should embroil Europe in war, of which she was
+weary. Less than ten years had elapsed since Europe had combined to
+dethrone Napoleon, and some of her leading powers, like Austria and
+Russia, had a detestation of popular insurrections.</p>
+
+<p>In this complicated state of political affairs, when any indiscretion on
+the part of friendly governments might kindle anew the flames of war,
+Lord Byron was living in Genoa, taking such an interest in the Greek
+struggle that he abandoned poetry for politics. He had always
+sympathized with enslaved nations struggling for independence, and was
+driven from Ravenna on account of his alliance with the revolutionary
+Society of the Carbonari. A new passion now seized him. He entered heart
+and soul into the struggles of the Greeks. Their cause absorbed him. He
+would aid them to the full extent of his means, with money and arms, as
+a private individual. He would be a political or military hero,--a man
+of action, not of literary leisure.</p>
+
+<p>Every lover of liberty must respect Byron's noble aspirations to assist
+the Greeks. It was a new field for him, but one in which he might
+retrieve his reputation,--for it must be borne in mind that his ruling
+passion was fame, and that he had gained all he could expect by his
+literary productions. Whether loved or hated, admired or censured, his
+poetry had placed him in the front rank of literary geniuses throughout
+the world. As a poet his immortality was secured. In literary efforts he
+had also probably exhausted himself; he could write nothing more which
+would add to his fame, unless he took a long rest and recreation. He was
+wearied of making poetry; but by plunging into a sea of fresh
+adventures, and by giving a new direction to his powers, he might be
+sufficiently renovated, in the course of time, to write something
+grander and nobler than even &quot;Childe Harold&quot; or &quot;Cain.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Lord Byron at this time was only thirty-five years old, a period when
+most men begin their best work. His constitution, it is true, was
+impaired, but he was still full of life and enterprise. He could ride or
+swim as well as he ever could. The call of a gallant people summoned him
+to arms, and of all nations he most loved the Greeks. He was an
+enthusiast in their cause; he believed that the day of their deliverance
+was at hand. So he made up his mind to consecrate his remaining energies
+to effect their independence. He opened a correspondence with the Greek
+committee in London. He selected a party, including a physician, to sail
+with him from Geneva. He raised a sum of about &pound;10,000, and on the 13th
+of July, 1823, embarked with his small party and eight servants, on
+board the &quot;Hercules&quot; for Greece.</p>
+
+<p>After a short delay at Leghorn the poet reached Cephalonia on the 24th
+of July. He was enthusiastically received by the Greeks of Argostoli,
+the principal port, but deemed it prudent to remain there until he could
+get further intelligence from Corfu and Missolonghi,--visiting, in the
+interval, some of the neighboring islands consecrated by the muse
+of Homer.</p>
+
+<p>The dissensions among the Greek leaders greatly embarrassed Byron, but
+did not destroy his ardor. He saw that the people were degenerate,
+faithless, and stained with atrocities as disgraceful as those of the
+Turks themselves. He dared not commit himself to any one of the
+struggling, envious parties which rallied round their respective
+chieftains. He lingered for six weeks in Cephalonia without the ordinary
+comforts of life, yet, against all his habits, rising at an early hour
+and attending to business, negotiating bills, and corresponding with the
+government, so far as there was a recognized central power.</p>
+
+<p>At last, after the fall of Corinth, taken from the Turks, and the
+arrival at Missolonghi of Prince Mavrocordato, the only leader of the
+Greeks worthy of the name of statesman, Byron sailed for that city, then
+invested by a Turkish fleet, and narrowly escaped capture. Here he did
+all he could to produce union among the chieftains, and took into his
+pay five hundred Suliotes, acting as their leader. He meditated an
+attack on Lepanto, which commanded the navigation of the Gulf of
+Corinth, and received from the government a commission for that
+enterprise; but dissensions among his men, and intrigues between rival
+generals, prevented the execution of his project.</p>
+
+<p>It was in Missolonghi, Jan. 22, 1824, that, with the memorandum, &quot;On
+this day I completed my thirty-sixth year,&quot; Byron wrote his latest
+verses, most pathetically regretting his youth and his unfortunate life,
+but arousing himself to find in a noble cause a glorious death:--</p>
+
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&quot;The fire that in my bosom preys<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Is like to some volcanic isle;<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; No torch is kindled at its blaze,--<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; A funeral pile.&quot;<br>
+
+<hr style="width: 25%;">
+
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&quot;Awake!--not Greece: she is awake!--<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Awake, my spirit! think through whom<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Thy life-blood tastes its parent lake,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And then strike home!&quot;<br>
+
+<hr style="width: 25%;">
+
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&quot;Seek out--less often sought than found--<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; A soldier's grave, for thee the best;<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Then look around, and choose thy ground,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And take thy rest!&quot;<br>
+
+<p>Vexations, disappointments, and exposure to the rains of February so
+wrought upon Byron's eager spirit and weakened body that he was attacked
+by convulsive fits. The physicians, in accordance with the custom of
+that time, bled their patient several times, against the protest of
+Byron himself, which reduced him to extreme weakness. He rallied from
+the attack for a time, and devoted himself to the affairs of Greece,
+hoping for the restoration of his health when spring should come. He
+spent in three months thirty thousand dollars for the cause into which
+he had so cordially entered. In April he took another cold from severe
+exposure, and fever set in,--to relieve which bleeding was again
+resorted to, and often repeated. He was now confined to his room, which
+he never afterwards left. He at last realized that he was dying, and
+sent incoherent messages to his sister, to his daughter, and to a few
+intimate friends. The end came on the 19th of April. The Greek
+government rendered all the honor possible to the illustrious dead. His
+remains were transferred to England. He was not buried in Westminster
+Abbey, however, but in the church of Hucknal, near Newstead, where a
+tablet was erected to his memory by his sister, the Hon. Augusta
+Maria Leigh.</p>
+
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&quot;So Harold ends in Greece, his pilgrimage<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; There fitly ending,--in that land renowned,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Whose mighty genius lives in Glory's page,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; He on the Muses' consecrated ground<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Sinking to rest, while his young brows are bound<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; With their unfading wreath! To bands of mirth<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; No more in Tempe let the pipe resound!<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Harold, I follow to thy place of birth<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The slow hearse,--and thy last sad pilgrimage on earth.&quot;<br>
+
+<p>I can add but little to what I have already said in reference to Byron,
+either as to his character or his poetry. The Edinburgh Review, which in
+Brougham's article on his early poems had stung him into satire and
+aroused him to a sense of his own powers, in later years by Jeffrey's
+hand gave a most appreciative account of his poems, while mourning over
+his morbid gloom: &quot;'Words that breathe and thoughts that burn' are not
+merely the ornaments but the common staple of his poetry; and he is not
+inspired or impressive only in some happy passages, but through the
+whole body and tissue of his composition.&quot; The keen insight and
+exceptional intellect of the philosopher-poet Goethe recognized in him
+&quot;the greatest talent of our century.&quot; His marvellous poetic genius was
+universally acknowledged in his own day; and more than that, so human
+was it that it attracted the sympathies of all civilized nations, and,
+as Lamartine said, &quot;made English literature known throughout Europe.&quot;
+Byron's poetry was politically influential also, by reason of its
+liberty-loving spirit,--arousing Italy, inspiring the young
+revolutionists of Germany, and awaking a generous sympathy for Greece.
+Without the consciousness of any &quot;mission&quot; beyond the expression of his
+own ebullient nature, this poet contributed no mean impulse to the
+general emancipation of spirit which has signalized the
+nineteenth century.</p>
+
+<p>Two generations have passed away since Byron's mortal remains were
+committed to the dust, and the verdict of his country has not since
+materially changed,--admiration for his genius <i>alone</i>. The light of
+lesser stars than he shines with brighter radiance. What the enlightened
+verdict of mankind may be two generations hence, no living mortal can
+tell. The worshippers of intellect may attempt to reverse or modify the
+judgment already passed, but the impressive truth remains that no man,
+however great his genius, will be permanently judged aside from
+character. When Lord Bacon left his name and memory to men's charitable
+judgments and the next age, he probably had in view his invaluable
+legacy to mankind of earnest searchings after truth, which made him one
+of the greatest of human benefactors. How far the poetry of Byron has
+proved a blessing to the world must be left to an abler critic than I
+lay claim to be. In him the good and evil went hand in hand in the
+eternal warfare which ancient Persian sages saw between the powers of
+light and darkness in every human soul,--a consciousness of which
+warfare made Byron himself in his saddest hours wish he had never
+lived at all.</p>
+
+<p>If we could, in his life and in his works, separate the evil from the
+good, and let only the good remain,--then his services to literature
+could hardly be exaggerated, and he would be honored as the greatest
+English poet, so far as native genius goes, after Shakespeare
+and Milton.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><hr style="width: 35%;"><br><br>
+<h2><a name="THOMAS_CARLYLE."></a>THOMAS CARLYLE.</h2>
+
+<hr style="width: 25%;">
+
+<p>1795-1881.</p>
+
+<p>CRITICISM AND BIOGRAPHY.</p>
+
+<p>The now famous biography of Thomas Carlyle, by Mr. Froude, shed a new
+light on the eccentric Scotch essayist, and in some respects changed the
+impressions produced by his own &quot;Reminiscences&quot; and the Letters of his
+wife. It is with the aid of those two brilliant and interesting volumes
+on Carlyle's &quot;Earlier Life&quot; and &quot;Life in London,&quot; issued about two years
+after the death of their distinguished subject, that I have rewritten my
+own view of one of the most remarkable men of the nineteenth century.</p>
+
+<p>Of the men of genius who have produced a great effect on their own time,
+there is no one concerning whom such fluctuating opinions have prevailed
+within forty years as in regard to Carlyle. His old admirers became his
+detractors, and those who first disliked him became his friends. When
+his earlier works appeared they attracted but little general notice,
+though there were many who saw in him a new light, or a new power to
+brush away cobwebs and shams, and to exalt the spiritual and eternal in
+man over all materialistic theories and worldly conventionalities.</p>
+
+<p>Carlyle's &quot;Miscellanies&quot;--essays published first in the leading Reviews,
+when he lived in his moorland retreat--created enthusiasm among young
+students and genuine thinkers of every creed. Lord Jeffrey detected the
+new genius and gave him a lift. Carlyle's &quot;French Revolution&quot; took the
+world by surprise, and established his fame. His &quot;Oliver Cromwell&quot;
+modified and perhaps changed the opinions of English and American people
+respecting the Great Protector. It was then that his popularity was
+greatest, and that the eccentric genius of Cheyne Row, so long
+struggling with poverty, was assured of a competence, and was received
+in some of the proudest families of the kingdom as a teacher and a sage.
+Thus far he was an optimist, taking cheerful views of human life, and
+encouraging those who had noble aspirations.</p>
+
+<p>But for some unaccountable reason, whether from discontent or dyspepsia
+or disappointment, or disgust with this world, Carlyle gradually became
+a pessimist, and attacked all forms of philanthropy, thus alienating
+those who had been his warmest supporters. He grew more bitter and
+morose, until at last he howled almost like a madman, and was steeped
+in cynicism and gloom. He put forth the doctrine that might was right,
+and that thrones belong to the strongest. He saw no reliance in
+governments save upon physical force, and expressed the most boundless
+contempt for all institutions established by the people. Then he wrote
+his &quot;Frederic the Great,&quot;--his most ambitious and elaborate production,
+received as an authority from its marvellous historical accuracy, but
+not so generally read as his &quot;French Revolution,&quot; and not, like his
+&quot;Cromwell,&quot; changing the opinions of mankind.</p>
+
+<p>Soon after this the death of his wife plunged him into renewed gloom,
+from which he never emerged; and he virtually retired from the world,
+and was lost sight of by the younger generation, until his
+&quot;Reminiscences&quot; appeared, injudiciously published at his request by his
+friend and pupil Froude, in which his scorn and contempt for everybody
+and everything turned the current of public opinion strongly against
+him. This was still further increased when the Letters of his
+wife appeared.</p>
+
+<p>Carlyle's bitterest assailants were now agnostics of every shade and
+degree, especially of the humanitarian school,--that to which Mill and
+George Eliot belonged. It was seen that this reviler of hypocrisy and
+shams, this disbeliever in miracles and in mechanisms to save society,
+was after all a believer in God Almighty and in immortality; a stern
+advocate of justice and duty, appealing to the conscience of mankind; a
+man who detested Comte the positivist as much as he despised Mill the
+agnostic, and who exalted the old religion of his fathers, stripped of
+supernaturalism, as the only hope of the world. The biography by Froude,
+while it does not conceal the atrabilious temperament of Carlyle, his
+bad temper, his intense egotism, his irritability, his overweening
+pride, his scorn, his profound loneliness and sorrow, and the deep gloom
+into which he finally settled, made clear at the same time his honest
+and tender nature, his noble independence, his heroic struggles with
+poverty of which he never complained, his generous charities, his
+conscientiousness and allegiance to duty, his constant labors amid
+disease and excessive nervousness, and his profound and unvarying love
+for his wife, although he was deficient in those small attentions and
+demonstrations of affection which are so much prized by women. If it be
+asked whether he was happy in his domestic relations, I would say that
+he was as much so as such a man could be. But it was a physical and
+moral impossibility that with his ailments and temper he <i>could</i> be
+happy. He was not sent into this world to be happy, but to do a work
+which only such a man as he could do.</p>
+
+<p>So displeasing, however, were the personal peculiarities of Carlyle
+that the man can never be popular. This hyperborean literary giant,
+speaking a Babylonian dialect, smiting remorselessly all pretenders and
+quacks, and even honest fools, was himself personally a bundle of
+contradictions, fierce and sad by turns. He was a compound of Diogenes,
+Jeremiah, and Dr. Johnson: like the Grecian cynic in his contempt and
+scorn, like the Jewish prophet in his melancholy lamentations, like the
+English moralist in his grim humor and overbearing dogmatism.</p>
+
+<p>It is unfortunate that we know so much of the man. Better would it be
+for his fame if we knew nothing at all of his habits and peculiarities.
+In our blended admiration and contempt, our minds are diverted from the
+lasting literary legacy he has left, which, after all, is the chief
+thing that concerns us. The mortal man is dead, but his works live. The
+biography of a great man is interesting, but his thoughts go coursing
+round the world, penetrating even the distant ages, modifying systems
+and institutions. What a mighty power is law! Yet how little do we know
+or care, comparatively, for lawgivers!</p>
+
+<p>Thomas Carlyle was born in the year 1795, of humble parentage, in an
+obscure Scotch village. His father was a stone-mason, much respected for
+doing good work, and for his virtue and intelligence,--a rough, rugged
+man who appreciated the value of education. Although kind-hearted and
+religious, it would seem that he was as hard and undemonstrative as an
+old-fashioned Puritan farmer,--one of those men who never kiss their
+children, or even their wives, before people. His mother also was
+sagacious and religious, and marked by great individuality of character.
+For these stern parents Carlyle ever cherished the profoundest respect
+and affection, regularly visiting them once a year wherever he might be,
+writing to them frequently, and yielding as much to their influence as
+to that of anybody.</p>
+
+<p>At the age of fourteen the boy was sent to the University of Edinburgh,
+with but little money in his pocket, and forced to practise the most
+rigid economy. He did not make a distinguished mark at college, nor did
+he cultivate many friendships. He was reserved, shy, awkward, and proud.
+After leaving college he became a school-teacher, with no aptness and
+much disdain for his calling. It was then that he formed the
+acquaintance of Edward Irving, which ripened into the warmest friendship
+of his life. He was much indebted to this celebrated preacher for the
+intellectual impulse received from him. Irving was at the head of a
+school at Kirkcaldy, and Carlyle became his assistant. Both these young
+men were ambitious, and aspired to pre-eminence. Like Napoleon at the
+military school of Brienne, they would not have been contented with
+anything less, because they were conscious of their gifts; and both
+attained their end. Irving became the greatest preacher of his day, and
+Carlyle the greatest writer; but Carlyle had the most self-sustained
+greatness. Irving was led by the demon of popularity into extravagances
+of utterance which destroyed his influence. Carlyle, on the other hand,
+never courted popularity; but becoming bitter and cynical in the rugged
+road he climbed to fame, he too lost many of his admirers.</p>
+
+<p>In ceasing to be a country schoolmaster, Carlyle did not abandon
+teaching. He removed to Edinburgh for the study of divinity, and
+supported himself by giving lessons. He had been destined by his parents
+to be a minister of the Kirk of Scotland; but at the age of twenty-three
+he entered upon a severe self-examination to decide whether he honestly
+believed and could preach its doctrines. Weeks of intense struggle freed
+him from the intellectual bonds of the kirk, but fastened upon him the
+chronic disorder of his stomach which embittered his life, and in later
+years distorted his vision of the world about him. At the recommendation
+of his friend Irving, then preacher at Hatton Gardens, Carlyle now
+became private tutor to the son of Mr. Charles Buller, an Anglo-Indian
+merchant, on a salary of &pound;200; and the tutor had the satisfaction of
+seeing his pupil's political advancement as a member of the House of
+Commons and one of the most promising men in England.</p>
+
+<p>About this time Carlyle, who had been industriously studying German and
+French, published a translation of Legendre's &quot;Elements of Geometry;&quot;
+and in 1824 brought out a &quot;Life of Schiller,&quot; a work that he never
+thought much of, but which was a very respectable performance. In fact,
+he never thought much of any of his works: they were always behind his
+ideal. He wrote slowly, and took great pains to be accurate; and in this
+respect he reminds us of George Eliot. Carlyle had no faith in rapid
+writing of any sort, any more than Daniel Webster had in extempore
+speaking. After he had become a master of composition, it took him
+thirteen years of steady work to write &quot;Frederick the Great,&quot;--about the
+same length of time it took Macaulay to write the history of fifteen
+years of England's life, whereas Gibbon wrote the whole of his
+voluminous and exhaustive &quot;History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman
+Empire&quot; in twenty years.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Schiller&quot; being finished, Carlyle was now launched upon his life-work
+as &quot;a writer of books.&quot; He translated Goethe's &quot;Wilhelm Meister,&quot; for
+which he received &pound;180. I do not see the transcendent excellence of
+this novel, except in its original and forcible criticism, and its
+undercurrent of philosophy; but it is nevertheless famous. These two
+works gave Carlyle some literary reputation among scholars, but not
+much fame.</p>
+
+<p>Although Carlyle was thus fairly embarked on a literary career, the
+&quot;trade&quot; of literature he always regarded as a poor one, and never
+encouraged a young man to pursue it as a profession unless forced into
+it by his own irresistible impulses. Its nobility he ranked very high,
+but not its remunerativeness. He regarded it as a luxury for the rich
+and leisurely, but a very thorny and discouraging path for a poor man.
+How few have ever got a living by it, unless allied with other
+callings,--as a managing clerk, or professor, or lecturer, or editor!
+The finest productions of Emerson were originally delivered as lectures.
+Novelists and dramatists, I think, are the only class, who, without
+doing anything else, have earned a comfortable support by their
+writings. Historians have, with very few exceptions, been independent in
+their circumstances.</p>
+
+<p>In the year 1826, at the age of thirty-one, Carlyle married Jane Welsh,
+the only child of a deceased physician of Haddington, who had some
+little property in expectancy from the profits of a farm in the
+moorlands of Scotland. She was beautiful, intellectual, and nervously
+intense. She had been a pupil of Edward Irving, who had introduced his
+friend Carlyle to her. On the whole, it was a fortunate marriage for
+Carlyle, although it would have been impossible for him to have or to
+give happiness in constant and intimate companionship with any woman. He
+was very fond of his wife, but in an undemonstrative sort of
+way,--except in his letters to her, which are genuine love-letters,
+tender and considerate. As in the case of most superior women, clouds at
+times gathered over her, which her husband did not or could not
+dissipate. But she was very proud of him, and faithful to him, and
+careful of his interest and fame. Nor is there evidence from her
+letters, or from the late biography which Froude has written, that she
+was, on the whole, unhappy. She was very frank, very sharp with her
+tongue, and sometimes did not spare her husband. She had a good deal to
+put up with from his irritable temper; but she also was irritable,
+nervous, and sickly, although in her loyalty she rarely complained,
+while she had many privations to endure,--for Carlyle until he was
+nearly fifty was a poor man. During the first two years of their
+residence in London they were obliged to live on &pound;100 a year. He was
+never in even moderately easy circumstances until after his &quot;Oliver
+Cromwell&quot; was published.</p>
+
+<p>After his marriage, Carlyle lived eighteen months near Edinburgh; but
+there was no opening for him in the exclusive society there. His merits
+were not then recognized as a man of genius in that cultivated capital,
+as it pre-eminently was at that time; but he made the acquaintance of
+Jeffrey, who acknowledged his merit, admired his wife, and continued to
+be as good a friend as that worldly but accomplished man could be to one
+so far beneath him in social rank.</p>
+
+<p>The next seven years of Carlyle's life were spent at the Scotch moorland
+farm of Craigenputtock, belonging to his wife's mother, which must have
+contributed to his support. How any brilliant woman, fond of society as
+Mrs. Carlyle was, could have lived contentedly in that dreary solitude,
+fifteen miles from any visiting neighbor or town, is a mystery. She had
+been delicately reared, and the hard life wore upon her health. Yet it
+was here that the young couple established themselves, and here that
+some of the young author's best works were written,--as the
+&quot;Miscellanies&quot; and &quot;Sartor Resartus.&quot; From here it was that he sent
+forth those magnificent articles on Heyne, Goethe, Novalis, Voltaire,
+Burns, and Johnson, which, published in the Edinburgh and other Reviews,
+attracted the attention of the reading world, and excited boundless
+admiration among students.</p>
+
+<p>The earlier of these remarkable productions, like those on Burns and
+Jean Paul Richter, were free from those eccentricities of style which
+Carlyle persisted in retaining with amazing pertinacity as he advanced
+in life,--except, again, in his letters to his wife, which are models of
+clear writing.</p>
+
+<p>The essay on &quot;German Literature&quot; appeared in the same year, 1827,--a
+longer and more valuable article, a blended defence and eulogium of a
+<i>terra incognita</i>, somewhat similar in spirit to that of Madame de
+Sta&euml;l's revelations twenty years before, and in which the writer shows
+great admiration of German poetry and criticism. Perhaps no Englishman,
+with the possible exceptions of Julius Hare and Coleridge,--the latter
+then a broken-down old man,--had at that time so profound an
+acquaintance as Carlyle with German literature, which was his food and
+life during the seven years' retirement on his moorland farm. This essay
+also was comparatively free from the involved, grotesque, but vivid
+style of his later works; and it was religious in its tone. &quot;It is
+mournful,&quot; writes he, &quot;to see so many noble, tender, and aspiring minds
+deserted of that light which once guided all such; mourning in the
+darkness because there is no home for the soul; or, what is worse,
+pitching tents among the ashes, and kindling weak, earthly lamps which
+we are to take for stars. But this darkness is very transitory. These
+ashes are the soil of future herbage and richer harvests. Religion
+dwells in the soul of man, and is as eternal as the being of man.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>In this extract we see the optimism which runs through Carlyle's earlier
+writings,--the faith in creation which is to succeed destruction, the
+immortal hopes which sustain the soul. He believed in the God of
+Abraham, and was as far from being a scoffer as the heavens are higher
+than the earth. He had renounced historical Christianity, but he adhered
+to its essential spirit.</p>
+
+<p>The next article which Carlyle published seems to have been on Werner,
+followed the same year, 1828, by one on Goethe's &quot;Helena,&quot;--a
+continuation of his &quot;Faust.&quot; This transcendent work of German art, which
+should be studied rather than read, is commented on by the reviewer with
+boundless admiration. If there was one human being whom Carlyle
+worshipped it was the dictator of German literature, who reigned at
+Weimar as Voltaire had reigned at Ferney. If he was not the first to
+introduce the writings of Goethe into England, he was the great German's
+warmest admirer. If Goethe had faults, they were to Carlyle the faults
+of a god, and he exalted him as the greatest light of modern times,--a
+new force in the world, a new fire in the soul, who inaugurated a new
+era in literature which went to the heart of cultivated Europe, weary of
+the doubts and denials that Voltaire had made fashionable. It seemed to
+Carlyle that Goethe entered into the sorrows, the solemn questionings
+and affirmations of the soul, seeking emancipation from dogmas and
+denials alike, and, in the spirit of Plato, resting on the certitudes of
+a higher life,--calm, self-poised, many-sided, having subdued passion as
+he had outgrown cant; full of benignity, free from sarcasm; a man of
+mighty and deep experiences, with knowledge of himself, of the world,
+and the whole realm of literature; a great artist as well as a great
+genius, seated on the throne of letters, not to scatter thunderbolts,
+but to instruct the present and future generations.</p>
+
+<p>The next great essay which Carlyle published, this time in the Edinburgh
+Review, was on Burns,--a hackneyed subject, yet treated with masterly
+ability. This article, in some respects his best, entirely free from
+mannerisms and affectation of style, is just in its criticism, glowing
+with eloquence, and full of sympathy with the infirmities of a great
+poet, showing a remarkable insight into what is noblest and truest. This
+essay is likely to live for style alone, aside from its various other
+merits. It is complete, exhaustive, brilliant, such as only a Scotchman
+could have written who was familiar with the laborious lives of the
+peasantry, living in the realm of art and truth, careless of outward
+circumstances and trappings, and exalting only what is immortal and
+lofty. While Carlyle sees in Goethe the impersonation of human
+wisdom,--in every aspect a success, outwardly and inwardly, serene and
+potent as an Olympian deity,--he sees in Burns a highly gifted genius
+also, but yet a wreck and a failure; a man broken down by the force of
+that degrading habit which unfortunately and peculiarly and even
+mysteriously robs a man of all dignity, all honor, and all sense of
+shame. Amid the misfortunes, the mistakes, and the degradations of the
+born poet, whom he alike admires and pities and mildly blames, he sees
+also the noble elements of the poet's gifted soul, and loves him,
+especially for his sincerity, which next to labor he uniformly praises.
+It was the truthfulness he saw in Burns which constrained Carlyle's
+affection,--the poet's sympathy and humanity, speaking out of his heart
+in unconscious earnestness and plaintive melody; sad and sorrowful, of
+course, since his life was an unsuccessful battle with himself, but free
+from egotism, and full of a love which no misery could crush,--so unlike
+that other greatest poet of our century, &quot;whose exemplar was Satan, the
+hero of his poetry and the model of his life.&quot; In this most beautiful
+and finished essay Carlyle paints the man in his true colors,--sinning
+and sinned against, courageous while yielding, poor but proud, scornful
+yet affectionate; singing in matchless lyrics the sentiments of the
+people from whom he sprung and among whom he died, which lyrics, though
+but fragments indeed, are precious and imperishable.</p>
+
+<p>In the same year appeared the Life of Heyne,--the great German scholar,
+pushing his way from the depths of poverty and obscurity, by force of
+patient industry and genius, to a proud position and a national fame.
+&quot;Let no unfriended son of genius despair,&quot; exclaims Carlyle. &quot;If he have
+the will, the power will not be denied him. Like the acorn, carelessly
+cast abroad in the wilderness, yet it rises to be an oak; on the wild
+soil it nourishes itself; it defies the tempest, and lives for a
+thousand years.&quot; The whole outward life of Carlyle himself, like that of
+Heyne, was an example of heroism amid difficulties, and hope amid
+the storms.</p>
+
+<p>The next noticeable article which Carlyle published was on Voltaire, and
+appeared in the Quarterly Review in 1829. It would appear that he hoped
+to find in this great oracle and guide of the eighteenth century
+something to admire and praise commensurate with his great fame. But
+vainly. Voltaire, though fortunate beyond example in literary history,
+versatile, laborious, brilliant in style,--poet, satirist, historian,
+and essayist,--seemed to Carlyle to be superficial, irreligious, and
+egotistical. The critic ascribes his power to ridicule,--a Lucian, who
+destroyed but did not reconstruct; worldly, material, sceptical,
+defiant, utterly lacking that earnestness without which nothing
+permanently great can be effected. Carlyle says:--</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Voltaire read history, not with the eye of a devout seer, or even
+critic, but through a pair of mere anti-Catholic spectacles. It is not a
+mighty drama, enacted on the theatre of infinitude, with suns for lamps
+and eternity as a background, whose author is God and whose purport
+leads to the throne of God, but a poor, wearisome debating-club dispute,
+spun through ten centuries, between the Encyclop&eacute;die and the Sorbonne.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Carlyle's essays for the next two years, chiefly on German literature,
+which he admired and sought to introduce to his countrymen, were
+published in various Reviews. I can only allude to one on Richter, whose
+whimsicality of style he unconsciously copied, and whose original ideas
+he made his own. In this essay Carlyle introduced to the English people
+a great German, but a grotesque, whose writings will probably never be
+read much out of Germany, excellent as they are, on account of the
+&quot;jarring combination of parentheses, dashes, hyphens, figures without
+limit, one tissue of metaphors and similes, interlaced with epigrammatic
+bursts and sardonic turns,--a heterogeneous, unparalleled imbroglio of
+perplexity and extravagance.&quot; There was another, on Schiller, not an
+idol to Carlyle as Goethe was, yet a great poet and a true man, with
+deep insight and intense earnestness. &quot;His works,&quot; said Carlyle, &quot;and
+the memory of what he was, will arise afar off, like a towering landmark
+in the solitude of the past, when distance shall have dwarfed into
+invisibility many lesser people that once encompassed him, and hid them
+forever from the near beholder.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Thus far Carlyle had confined himself to biography and essays on German
+literature, in which his extraordinary insight is seen; but now he
+enters another field, and writes a strictly original essay, called
+&quot;Characteristics,&quot; published in the Edinburgh Review in the prolific
+year of 1831, in which essay we see the germs of his philosophy. The
+article is hard to read, and is disfigured by obscurities which leave a
+doubt on the mind of the reader as to whether the author understood the
+subject about which he was writing,--for Carlyle was not a philosopher,
+but a painter and prose-poet. There is no stream of logic running
+consistently through his writings. In &quot;Characteristics&quot; he seems to have
+had merely glimpses of great truths which he could not clearly express,
+and which won him the reputation of being a German transcendentalist.
+Its leading idea is the commonplace one of the progress of society,
+which no sane and Christian man has ever seriously questioned,--not an
+uninterrupted progress, but a general advance, brought about by
+Christian ideas. Any other view of progress is dreary and discouraging;
+nor is this inconsistent with great catastrophes and national
+backslidings, with the fall of empires, and French Revolutions.</p>
+
+<p>We note at this time in Carlyle's writings, on the whole, a cheerful
+view of human life in spite of sorrows, hardships, and disappointments,
+which are made by Divine Providence to act as healthy discipline. We see
+nothing of the angry pessimism of his later writings. Those years at
+Craigenputtock were healthy and wholesome; he labored in hope, and had
+great intellectual and artistic enjoyment, which reconciled him to
+solitude,--the chief evil with which he had to contend, after dyspepsia.
+His habits were frugal, but poverty did not stare him in the face, since
+he had the income of the farm. It does not appear that the deep gloom
+which subsequently came over his soul oppressed him in his moorland
+retreat. He did not sympathize with any religion of denials, but felt
+that out of the jargon of false and pretentious philosophies would come
+at last a positive belief which would once more enthrone God in
+the world.</p>
+
+<p>After writing another characteristic article, on Biography, he furnished
+for Fraser's Magazine one of the finest biographical portraits ever
+painted,--that of Dr. Johnson, in which that cyclopean worker stands
+out, with even more distinctness than in Boswell's &quot;Life,&quot; as one of the
+most honest, earnest, patient laborers in the whole field of literature.
+Carlyle makes us almost love this man, in spite of his awkwardness,
+dogmatism, and petulance. Johnson in his day was an acknowledged
+dictator on all literary questions, surrounded by admirers of the
+highest gifts, who did homage to his learning,--a man of more striking
+individuality than any other celebrity in England, and a man of intense
+religious convictions in an age of religious indifference. We now wonder
+why this struggling, poorly paid, and disagreeable man of letters should
+have had such an ascendency over men superior to himself in learning,
+genius, and culture, as Burke and Gibbon doubtless were. Even Goldsmith,
+whom he snubbed and loved, is now more popular than he. It was the
+heroism of his character which Carlyle so much admired and so vividly
+described,--contending with so many difficulties, yet surmounting them
+all by his persistent industry and noble aspirations; never losing faith
+in himself or his Maker, never servilely bowing down to rank and wealth,
+as others did, and maintaining his self-respect in whatever condition he
+was placed. In this delightful biography we are made to see the
+superiority of character to genius, and the dignity of labor when
+idleness was the coveted desire of most fortunate men, as well as the
+almost universal vice of the magnates of the land. Labor, to the mind of
+Johnson as well as to that of Carlyle, is not only honorable, but is a
+necessity which Nature imposes as the condition of happiness and
+usefulness. Nor does Carlyle sneer at the wedded life of Johnson, made
+up of &quot;drizzle and dry weather,&quot; but reverences his fidelity to his best
+friend, uninteresting as she was to the world, and his plaintive and
+touching grief when she passed away.</p>
+
+<p>Carlyle in this essay exalts a life of letters, however poorly paid
+(which Pope in his &quot;Dunciad&quot; did so much to depreciate), showing how it
+contributes to the elevation of a nation, and to those lofty pleasures
+which no wealth can purchase. But it is the moral dignity of Johnson
+which the essay makes to shine most conspicuously in his character,
+supported as he was by the truths of religion, in which under all
+circumstances he proudly glories, and without which he must have made
+shipwreck of himself amid so many discouragements, maladies, and
+embarrassments,--for his greatest labors were made with poverty,
+distress, and obscurity for his companions,--until at last, victorious
+over every external evil and vile temptation, he emerged into the realm
+of peace and light, and became an oracle and a sage wherever he chose
+to go.</p>
+
+<p>Johnson was the greatest master of conversation in his day, whose
+detached sayings are still quoted more often than his most elaborate
+periods. I apprehend that there was a great contrast between Johnson's
+writings and his conversation. While the former are Ciceronian, his talk
+was epigrammatic, terse, and direct; and its charm and power were in his
+pointed and vehement Saxon style. Had he talked as he wrote, he would
+have been wearisome and pedantic. Still, like Coleridge and Robert Hall,
+he preached rather than conversed, thinking what he himself should say
+rather than paying attention to what others said, except to combat and
+rebuke them,--a discourser, as Macaulay was; not one to suggest
+interchange of ideas, as Addison did. But neither power of conversation
+nor learning would have made Johnson a literary dictator. His power was
+in the force of his character, his earnestness, and sincerity, even more
+than in his genius.</p>
+
+<p>I will not dwell on the other Review articles which Carlyle wrote in his
+isolated retreat, since published as &quot;Miscellanies,&quot; on which his fame
+in no small degree rests,--even as the essays of Macaulay may be read
+when his more elaborate History will lie neglected on the shelves of
+libraries. Carlyle put his soul into these miscellanies, and the labor
+and enjoyment of writing made him partially forget his ailments. I look
+upon those years at Craigenputtock as the brightest and healthiest of
+his life, removed as he was from the sight of levities and follies which
+tormented his soul and irritated his temper.</p>
+
+<p>Carlyle contrived to save about &pound;200 from his literary earnings, so
+frugal was his life and so free from temptations. His recreation was in
+wandering on foot or horseback over the silent moors and unending hills,
+watered by nameless rills and shadowed by mists and vapors. His life was
+solitary, but not more so than that of Moses amid the deserts of
+Midian,--isolation, indeed, but in which the highest wisdom is matured.
+Into this retreat Emerson penetrated, a young man, with boundless
+enthusiasm for his teacher,--for Carlyle was a teacher to him as to
+hundreds of others in this country. Carlyle never had a truer and better
+friend than Emerson, who opened to him the great reward of recognition
+in distant America while yet his own land refused to take knowledge of
+him; and this friendship continued to the end, an honor to both,--for
+Carlyle never saw in Emerson's writings the genius and wisdom which his
+American friend admired in the Scottish sage. Nor were their opinions so
+harmonious as some suppose. Emerson despised Calvinism, and had no
+definite opinions on any theological subject; Carlyle was a Calvinist
+without the theology of Calvinism, if that be possible. He did not,
+indeed, believe in historical Christianity, but he had the profoundest
+convictions of an overruling God, reigning in justice, and making the
+wrath of man to praise Him. Carlyle, too, despised everything visionary
+and indefinite, and had more respect for what is brought about by
+revolution than by evolution. But of all things he held in profoundest
+abhorrence the dreary theories of materialists and political economists.
+It was the spirit and not the body which stood out in his eyes as of
+most importance; it was the manly virtues which he reverenced in man,
+not his clothes and surroundings. And it was on this lofty spiritual
+plane that Carlyle and Emerson stood in complete harmony together.</p>
+
+<p>I cannot quit this part of Carlyle's life without mention of what I
+conceive to be his most original and remarkable production,--&quot;Sartor
+Resartus,&quot;--The Stitcher Restitched: or, The Tailor Done Over,--the
+title of an old Scotch song. It is a quaintly conceived reproduction of
+the work of an imaginary German professor on &quot;The Philosophy of
+Clothes,&quot;--under which external figure he includes all institutions,
+customs, beliefs, in which humanity has draped itself, as distinguished
+from the inner reality of man himself. &quot;The beginning of all Wisdom,&quot; he
+says, &quot;is to look fixedly on Clothes, or even with armed eyesight, till
+they become <i>transparent</i>.&quot; And thus, in grotesque fashion, with amazing
+vigor he ranges the universe in search of the Real. In one of his
+letters to Emerson, Carlyle, discussing a project of lecturing in
+America, takes on his sartorial professor's name, and writes: &quot;Could any
+one but appoint me Lecturing Professor of Teufelsdr&ouml;ckh's
+Science,--'Things in General'!&quot; This work was written in his remote
+solitude, yet not published for years after it was finished,--and for
+the best of reasons, because with all his literary repute Carlyle could
+not find a publisher. The &quot;Sartor&quot; was not appreciated; and Carlyle,
+knowing its value, locked it up in his drawer, and waited for his time.</p>
+
+<p>The &quot;Sartor Resartus&quot; is a sort of prose poem, written with the heart's
+blood, vivid as fire in a dark night; a Dantean production; a revelation
+probably of the author's own struggles and experiences from the dark
+gulf of the &quot;Everlasting Nay&quot; to the clear and serene heights of the
+&quot;Everlasting Yea.&quot; To me the book is full of consolation and
+encouragement,--a battle of the spirit with infernal doubts, a victory
+over despair, over all external evils and all spiritual foes. It is also
+a bold and grotesque but scorching sarcasm of the conventionalities and
+hypocrisies of society, and a savage thrust at those quackeries which
+seem to reign in this world in spite of their falsity and shallowness.
+It is not, I grant, easy to read. It is full of conceits and
+affectations of style,--a puzzle to some, a rebuke to others. &quot;Every
+page of this unique collection of confessions and meditations, of
+passionate invective and solemn reflection,&quot; is stamped with the seal of
+genius, and yet was the last of Carlyle's writings to be appreciated. I
+believe that this is the ordinary fate of truly original works, those
+that are destined to live the longest, especially if they burn no
+incense to the idols of prevailing worship, and be characterized by a
+style which, to say the least, is extraordinary. Flashy, brilliant,
+witty, yet superficial pictures of external life which everybody has
+seen and knows, are the soonest to find admirers; but a revelation of
+what is not seen, this is the work of seers and prophets whose ordinary
+destiny has been anything other than to wear soft raiment and sit in
+king's palaces. The &quot;Sartor&quot; was at last, in 1833-1834, printed in
+Fraser's Magazine, meeting no appreciation in England, but very
+enthusiastically received by Emerson, Channing, Ripley, and a group of
+advanced thinkers in New England, through whose efforts it was published
+here in book form. And so, in spite of timid London publishers, it
+drifted back to London and a slow-growing fame. In our time, sixty years
+later, it sells by scores of thousands annually, in cheap and in
+luxurious editions, throughout the English-speaking world.</p>
+
+<p>In respect of early recognition and popularity, Carlyle differs from his
+great contemporary Macaulay, who was so immediately and so magnificently
+rewarded, and yet received no more than his due as the finest prose
+writer of his day. Macaulay's Essays are generally word-pictures of
+remarkable men and remarkable events, but of men of action rather than
+of quiet meditation. His heroes are such men as Clive and Hastings and
+Pitt, not such men as Pascal or Augustine or Leibnitz or Goethe. But
+Carlyle in his heroes paints the struggling soul in its deepest
+aspirations, and the truths evolved by profound meditations. These are
+not such as gain instant popular acceptance; yet they are the
+longer-lived.</p>
+
+<p>The time came at last for Carlyle to leave his retirement among moors
+and hills, and in 1831 he directed his steps to London, spending the
+winter with his wife in the great centre of English life and thought,
+and being well received; so that in 1834 he removed permanently to the
+metropolis. But he was scarcely less buried at his modest house in
+Chelsea than he had been on his farm, for he came to London with only
+&pound;200, and was obliged to practise the most rigid economy. For two years
+he labored in his London workshop without earning a shilling, and with
+a limited acquaintance. Not yet was his society sought by the great
+world which he mocked and despised. He fortunately had the genial and
+agreeable Leigh Hunt for a neighbor, and Edward Irving for his friend.
+He was known to the critics by his writings, but his circle of personal
+friends was small. He was more or less intimate with John Stuart Mill,
+Charles Austin, Sir William Molesworth, and the advanced section of the
+philosophical radicals,--the very class of men from whom he afterwards
+was most estranged. None of these men forwarded his fortunes; but they
+lent him books, and helped him at the libraries, for no carpenter can
+work without tools.</p>
+
+<p>The work to which Carlyle now devoted himself was a history of the
+French Revolution, the principal characters of which he had already
+studied and written about. It was a subject adapted to his genius for
+dramatic writing, and for the presentation of his views as to
+retribution. His whole theology, according to Froude, was underlaid by
+the belief in punishment for sin, which was impressed upon his mind by
+his God-fearing parents, and was one of his firmest convictions. The
+French were to his mind the greatest sinners among Christian nations,
+and therefore were to reap a fearful penalty. To paint in a new and
+impressive form the inevitable calamities attendant on violated law and
+justice, was the aspiration of Carlyle. He had money enough to last him
+with economy for two years. In this time he hoped to complete his work.
+The possibility was due to the intelligent thrift of his wife.
+Commenting on one of her letters describing their snug little house,
+he writes:--</p>
+
+<p>&quot;From birth upwards she had lived in opulence; and now, for my sake, had
+become poor,--so nobly poor. Truly, her pretty little brag [in this
+letter] was well founded. No such house, for beautiful thrift, quiet,
+spontaneous, nay, as it were, unconscious--minimum of money reconciled
+to human comfort and human dignity--have I anywhere looked upon.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>He devoted himself to his task with intense interest, and was completely
+preoccupied.</p>
+
+<p>In the winter of 1835, after a year of general study, collection of
+material and writing, and at last &quot;by dint of continual endeavor for
+many weary weeks,&quot; the first volume was completed and submitted to his
+friend Mill. The valuable manuscript was accidentally and ignorantly
+destroyed by a servant, and Mill was in despair. Carlyle bore the loss
+like a hero. He did not chide or repine. If his spirit sunk within him,
+it was when he was alone in his library or in the society of his
+sympathizing wife. He generously writes to Emerson,--</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I could not complain, or the poor man would have shot himself: we had
+to gather ourselves together, and show a smooth front to it,--which
+happily, though difficult, was not impossible to do. I began again at
+the beginning, to such a wretched, paralyzing torpedo of a task as my
+hand never found to do.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Mill made all the reparation possible. He gave his friend &pound;200, but
+Carlyle would accept only &pound;100. Few men could have rewritten with any
+heart that first volume: it would be almost impossible to revive
+sufficient interest; the precious inspiration would have been wanting.
+Yet Carlyle manfully accomplished his task, and I am inclined to think
+that the second writing was better than the first; that he probably left
+out what was unessential, and made a more condensed narrative,--a more
+complete picture, for his memory was singularly retentive. I do not
+believe that any man can do his best at the first heat. See how the
+great poets revise and rewrite. Brougham rewrote his celebrated
+peroration on the trial of Queen Caroline seventeen times. Carlyle had
+to rewrite his book, but his materials remained; his great pictures were
+all in his mind. In this second writing there may have been less
+emotion,--less fire in his descriptions; but there was fire enough, for
+his vivacity was excessive. Even <i>his</i> work could be pruned, not by
+others, but by himself. &quot;The household at Chelsea was never closer drawn
+together than in those times of trial.&quot; Carlyle lost time and spirits,
+but he could afford the loss. The entire work was delayed, but was done
+at last. The final sentence of Vol. III. was written at ten o'clock on a
+damp evening, January 14, 1837.</p>
+
+<p>This great work, the most ambitious and famous of all Carlyle's
+writings, and in many respects his best, was not received by the public
+with the enthusiam it ought to have awakened. It was not appreciated by
+the people at large. &quot;Ordinary readers were not enraptured by the Iliad
+swiftness and vividness of the narrative, its sustained passion, the
+flow of poetry, the touches of grandeur and tenderness, and the masterly
+touches by which he made the great actors stand out in their
+individuality.&quot; It seemed to many to be extravagant, exaggerated, at war
+with all the &quot;feudalities of literature.&quot; Partisans of all kinds were
+offended. The style was startlingly broken, almost savage in strength,
+vivid and distinct as lightning. Doubtless the man himself had grown
+away from the quieter moods of his earlier essays. Froude quotes this
+from Carlyle's journal: &quot;The poor people seem to think a style can be
+put off or on, not like a skin but like a coat. Is not a skin verily a
+product and close kinsfellow of all that lies under it, exact type of
+the nature of the beast, not to be plucked off without flaying and
+death? The Public is an old woman. Let her maunder and mumble.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>But the extraordinary merits of the book made a great impression on the
+cultivated intellects of England,--such men as Jeffrey, Macaulay,
+Southey, Hallam, Brougham, Thackeray, Dickens,--who saw and admitted
+that a great genius had arisen, whether they agreed with his views or
+not. In America, we may be proud to say, the work created general
+enthusiasm, and its republication through Emerson's efforts brought some
+money as well as larger fame to its author. Of the first moneys that
+Emerson sent Carlyle as fruits of this adventure, the dyspeptic
+Scotchman wrote that he was &quot;half-resolved to buy myself a sharp little
+nag with twenty of these trans-Atlantic pounds, and ride him till the
+other thirty be eaten. I will call the creature 'Yankee.' ... My kind
+friends!&quot; And <i>Yankee</i> was duly bought and ridden.</p>
+
+<p>Carlyle still remained in straitened circumstances, although his
+reputation was now established. In order to assist him in his great
+necessities his friends got up lectures for him, which were attended by
+the <i>&eacute;lite</i> of London. He gave several courses in successive years
+during the London season, which brought him more money than his writings
+at that time, gave him personal <i>&eacute;clat</i>, and added largely to his circle
+of admirers. His second course of twelve lectures brought him &pound;300,--a
+year's harvest, and a large sum for lectures in England, where the
+literary institutions rarely paid over &pound;5 for a single lecture. Even in
+later times the Philosophical Society of Edinburgh, which commanded the
+finest talent, paid only &pound;10 to such men as Froude and the archbishop
+of York.</p>
+
+<p>But lecturing, to many men an agreeable excitement, seems to have been
+very unpleasant to Carlyle,--even repulsive. Though the lectures brought
+both money and fame, he abominated the delivery of them. They broke his
+rest, destroyed his peace of mind, and depressed his spirits. Nothing
+but direst necessity reconciled him to the disagreeable task. He never
+took any satisfaction or pride in his success in this field; nor was his
+success probably legitimate. People went to see him as a new literary
+lion,--to hear him roar, not to be edified. He had no peculiar
+qualification for public speaking, and he affected to despise it. Very
+few English men of letters have had this gift. Indeed, popular eloquence
+is at a discount among the cultivated classes in England. They prefer to
+read at their leisure. Popular eloquence best thrives in democracies, as
+in that of ancient Athens; aristocrats disdain it, and fear it. In their
+contempt for it they even affect hesitation and stammering, not only
+when called upon to speak in public, but also in social converse, until
+the halting style has come to be known among Americans as &quot;very
+English.&quot; In absolute monarchies eloquence is rare except in the pulpit
+or at the bar. Cicero would have had no field, and would not probably
+have been endured, in the reign of Nero; yet Bossuet and Bourdaloue were
+the delight of Louis XIV. What would that monarch have said to the
+speeches of Mirabeau?</p>
+
+<p>After the publication in 1837 of the &quot;French Revolution,&quot;--that &quot;roaring
+conflagration of anarchies,&quot; that series of graphic pictures rather than
+a history or even a criticism,--it was some time before Carlyle could
+settle down upon another great work. He delivered lectures, wrote tracts
+and essays, gave vent to his humors, and nursed his ailments. He was now
+famous,--a man whom everybody wished to see and know, especially
+Americans when they came to London, but whom he generally snubbed (as he
+did me) and pronounced them bores. It was at this time that he made the
+acquaintance of Monckton Milnes, afterward Lord Houghton, who invited
+him to breakfast, where he met other notabilities,--among them Bunsen
+the Prussian Ambassador at London; Lord Mahon the historian; and Mr.
+Baring, afterward Lord Ashburton, the warmest and the truest of his
+friends, who extended to him the most generous hospitalities.</p>
+
+<p>Carlyle was now in what is called &quot;high society,&quot; and was &quot;taking life
+easy,&quot;--writing but little, yet reading much, especially about Oliver
+Cromwell, whose Life he thought of writing. His lectures at this period
+were more successful than ever, attended by great and fashionable
+people; and from them his chief income was derived.</p>
+
+<p>While collecting materials for his Life of Cromwell, Carlyle became
+deeply interested in the movements of the Chartists, composed chiefly of
+working-men with socialistic tendencies. He was called a &quot;radical,&quot;--and
+he did believe in a radical reform of men's lives, especially of the
+upper classes who showed but little sympathy for the poor. He was not
+satisfied with the Whigs, who believed that the Reform Bill would usher
+in a political millennium. He had more sympathy with the &quot;conservative&quot;
+Tories than the &quot;liberal&quot; Whigs; but his opinions were not acceptable to
+either of the great political parties. They alike distrusted him. Even
+Mill had a year before declined an article on the working classes for
+his Review, the Westminster. Carlyle took it to Lockhart of the
+Quarterly, but Lockhart was afraid to publish it. Mill, then about to
+leave the Westminster, wished to insert it as a final shout; but Carlyle
+declined, and in 1839 expanded his article into a book called
+&quot;Chartism,&quot; which was rapidly sold and loudly noticed. It gave but
+little satisfaction, however. It offended the conservatives by exposing
+sores that could not be healed, while on the other hand the radicals did
+not wish to be told that men were far from being equal,--that in fact
+they were very unequal; and that society could not be advanced by
+debating clubs or economical theories, but only by gifted individuals as
+instruments of Divine Providence, guiding mankind by their
+superior wisdom.</p>
+
+<p>These views were expanded in a new course of lectures, on &quot;Heroes and
+Hero Worship,&quot; and subsequently printed,--the most able and suggestive
+of all Carlyle's lectures, delivered in the spring of 1840 with great
+<i>&eacute;clat</i>. He never appeared on the platform again. Lecturing, as we have
+said, was not to his taste; he preferred to earn his living by his pen,
+and his writings had now begun to yield a comfortable support. He
+received on account of them &pound;400 from America alone, thanks to the
+influence of his friend Emerson.</p>
+
+<p>Carlyle now began to weary of the distraction of London life, and pined
+for the country. But his wife would not hear a word about it; she had
+had enough of the country, at Craigenputtock. Meanwhile preparations for
+the Life of Cromwell went on slowly, varied by visits to his relatives
+in Scotland, travels on the Continent, and interviews with distinguished
+men. His mind at this period (1842) was most occupied with the sad
+condition of the English people,--everywhere riots, disturbances,
+physical suffering and abject poverty among the masses, for the Corn
+Laws had not then been repealed; and to Carlyle's vision there was a
+most melancholy prospect ahead,--not revolution, but universal
+degradation, and the reign of injustice. This sad condition of the
+people was contrasted in his mind with what it had been centuries
+before, as it appeared from an old book which he happened to read,
+Jocelin's Chronicles, which painted English life in the twelfth century.
+He fancied that the world was going on from bad to worse; and in this
+gloomy state of mind he wrote his &quot;Past and Present,&quot; which appeared in
+1843, and created a storm of anger as well as admiration. It was a sort
+of protest against the political systems of economy then so popular.
+Lockhart said of it that he could accept none of his friend's inferences
+except one,--&quot;that we were all wrong, and were all like to be damned.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Gloomy and satirical as the book was, it made a great impression on the
+thinkers of the day, while it did not add to the author's popularity. It
+seemed as if he were a prophet of wrath,--an Ishmaelite whose hand was
+against everybody. He offended all political parties,--&quot;the Tories by
+his radicalism, and the Radicals by his scorn of their formulas; the
+High Churchman by his Protestantism, and the Low Churchman by evident
+unorthodoxy.&quot; Yet all parties and sects admitted that much that he said
+was true, while at the same time they had no sympathy with his
+fierce ravings.</p>
+
+<p>For ten years after the publication of the &quot;French Revolution&quot; Carlyle
+assumed the functions of a prophet, hurling anathemas and pronouncing
+woes. To his mind everything was alike disjointed or false or
+pretentious, in view of which he uttered groans and hisses and
+maledictions. The very name of a society designed to ameliorate evils
+seemed to put him into a passion. Every reformer appeared to him to be a
+blind teacher of the blind. Exeter Hall, then the scene of every variety
+of social and religious and political discussion, was to him a veritable
+pandemonium. Everybody at that period of agitation and reform was giving
+lectures, and everybody went to hear them; and Carlyle ridiculed them
+all alike as pedlers of nostrums to heal diseases which were incurable.
+He lived in an atmosphere of disdain. &quot;The English people,&quot; said he,
+&quot;number some thirty millions,--mostly fools.&quot; His friends expostulated
+with him for giving utterance to such bitter expressions, and for
+holding such gloomy views. John Mill was mortally offended, and walked
+no more with him. De Quincey said, &quot;You have made a new hole in your
+society kettle: how do you propose to mend it?&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Yet all this while Carlyle had not lost faith in Providence, as it
+might seem, but felt that God would inflict calamities on peoples for
+their sins. He resembled Savonarola more than he did Voltaire. What
+seemed to some to be mockeries were really the earnest protests of his
+soul against universal corruption, to be followed by downward courses
+and retribution. His mind was morbid from intense reflection on certain
+evils, and from his physical ailments. He doubtless grieved and
+alienated his best friends by his diatribes against popular education
+and free institutions. He even appeared to lean to despotism and the
+rule of tyrants, provided only they were strong.</p>
+
+<p>Thus Carlyle destroyed his influence, even while he moved the mind to
+reflection. It was seen and felt that he had no sympathy with many
+movements designed to benefit society, and that he cherished utter scorn
+for many active philanthropists. In his bitterness, wrath, and disdain
+he became himself intolerant. In some of his wild utterances he brought
+upon himself almost universal reproach, as when he said, &quot;I never
+thought the rights of negroes worth much discussing, nor the rights of
+man in any form,&quot;--a sentiment which militated against his whole
+philosophy. In this strange and unhappy mood of mind, the &quot;Latter Day
+Pamphlets,&quot; &quot;Past and Present,&quot; and other essays were written, which
+undermined the reverence in which he had been held. These were the
+blots on his great career, which may be traced to sickness and a
+disordered mind.</p>
+
+<p>In fact, Carlyle cannot be called a sound writer at any period. He
+contradicts himself. He is a great painter, a prose-poet, a
+satirist,--not a philosopher; perhaps the most suggestive writer of the
+nineteenth century, often giving utterance to the grandest thoughts, yet
+not a safe guide at all times, since he is inconsistent and full of
+exaggerations.</p>
+
+<p>The morbid and unhealthy tone of Carlyle's mind at this period may be
+seen by an extract from one of his letters to Sterling:--</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I see almost nobody. I avoid sight, rather, and study to consume my own
+smoke. I wish you would build me, among your buildings, some small
+Prophet Chamber, fifteen feet square, with a flue for smoking, sacred
+from all noises of dogs, cocks, and piano-fortes, engaging some dumb old
+woman to light a fire for me daily, and boil some kind of a kettle.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Thus quaintly he expressed his desire for uninterrupted solitude, where
+he could work to advantage.</p>
+
+<p>He was then engaged on Cromwell, and the few persons with whom he
+exchanged letters show how retired was his life. His friends were also
+few, although he could have met as many persons as pleased him. He was
+too much absorbed with work to be what is called a society man; but
+what society he did see was of the best.</p>
+
+<p>At last Carlyle's task on the &quot;Life of Oliver Cromwell&quot; was finished in
+August, 1845, when he was fifty years of age. It was the greatest
+contribution to English history; Mr. Froude thinks, which has been made
+in the present century. &quot;Carlyle was the first to make Cromwell and his
+age intelligible to mankind.&quot; Indeed, he reversed the opinions of
+mankind respecting that remarkable man, which was a great
+accomplishment. No one doubts the genuineness of the portrait. Cromwell
+was almost universally supposed, fifty years ago, to be a hypocrite as
+well as a usurper. In Carlyle's hands he stands out visionary, perhaps,
+but yet practical, sincere, earnest, God-fearing,--a patriot devoted to
+the good of his country. Carlyle rescued a great historical personage
+from the accumulated slanders of two centuries, and did his work so well
+that no hostile criticisms have modified his verdict. He has painted a
+picture which is immortal. The insight, the sagacity, the ability, and
+the statesmanship of Cromwell are impressed upon the minds of all
+readers. That England never had a greater or more enlightened ruler,
+everybody is now forced to admit,--and not merely a patriotic but a
+Christian ruler, who regarded himself simply as the instrument of
+Providence.</p>
+
+<p>People still differ as to the cause in which Cromwell embarked, and few
+defend the means he used to accomplish his ends. He does not stand out
+as a perfect man; he made mistakes, and committed political crimes which
+can be defended only on grounds of expediency. But his private life was
+above reproach, and he died in the triumph of Christian faith, after
+having raised his country to a higher pitch of glory than had been seen
+since the days of Queen Elizabeth.</p>
+
+<p>The faults of the biographer centre in confounding right with might; and
+this conspicuously false doctrine is the leading defect of the
+philosophy of Carlyle, runs through all his writings, and makes him an
+unsound teacher. If this doctrine be true, then all the usurpers of the
+world from Caesar to Napoleon can be justified. If this be true, then an
+irresistible imperialism becomes the best government for mankind. It is
+but fair to say that Carlyle himself denied this inference. Writing of
+Lecky's having charged him with believing in the divine right of
+strength, he says:--</p>
+
+<p>&quot;With respect to that poor heresy of might being the symbol of right 'to
+a certain great and venerable author,' I shall have to tell Lecky one
+day that quite the converse or <i>re</i>verse is the great and venerable
+author's real opinion,--namely, that right is the eternal symbol of
+might; ... in fact, he probably never met with a son of Adam more
+contemptuous of might except when it rests on the above origin.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Yet the impression of all his strongest work is the other way.</p>
+
+<p>Certain other kindred doctrines may be inferentially drawn from
+Carlyle's defence of Cromwell; namely, that a popular assembly is
+incapable of guiding successfully the destinies of a nation; that behind
+all constitutions lies an ultimate law of force; that majorities, as
+such, have no more right to rule than kings and nobles; that the
+strongest are the best, and the best are the strongest; that the right
+to rule lies with those who are right in mind and heart, as he supposed
+Cromwell to be, and who can execute their convictions. Such teachings,
+it need not be shown, are at war with the whole progress of modern
+society and the enlightened opinion of mankind.</p>
+
+<p>The great merit of Carlyle's History is in the clearness and vividness
+with which he paints his hero and the exposure of the injustice with
+which he has been treated by historians. It is an able vindication of
+Cromwell's character. But the deductions drawn from his philosophy lead
+to absurdity, and are an insult to the understanding of the world.</p>
+
+<p>It was about this time, on the conclusion of the &quot;Cromwell,&quot; when he was
+on the summit of his literary fame, and the world began to shower its
+favors upon him, that Carlyle's days were saddened by a domestic trouble
+which gave him inexpressible solicitude and grief. His wife, with whom
+he had lived happily for so many years, was exceedingly disturbed on
+account of his intimate friendship with Lady Ashburton. Nothing can be
+more plaintive and sadly beautiful than the letters he wrote to her on
+the occasion of her starting off in a fit of spleen, after a stormy
+scene, to visit friends at a distance; and what is singular is that we
+do not find in those letters, when his soul was moved to its very
+depths, any of his peculiarities of style. They are remarkably simple as
+well as serious.</p>
+
+<p>Carlyle's friendship for one of the most brilliant and cultivated women
+of England, which the breath of scandal never for a moment assailed, was
+reasonable and natural, and was a great comfort to him. He persisted in
+enjoying it, knowing that his wife disliked it. In this matter, which
+was a cloud upon his married life, and saddened the family hearth for
+years, Mrs. Carlyle was doubtless exacting and unreasonable; though some
+men would have yielded the point for the sake of a faithful wife,--or
+even for peace. There are those who think that Carlyle was selfish in
+keeping up an intercourse which was hateful to his wife; but the
+Ashburtons were the best friends that Carlyle ever had, after he became
+famous,--and in their various country seats he enjoyed a hospitality
+rarely extended to poor literary men. There he met in enjoyable and
+helpful intercourse, when he could not have seen them in his own house,
+some of the most distinguished men of the day,--men of rank and
+influence as well as those of literary fame.</p>
+
+<p>Until this intimacy with the Ashburtons, no domestic disturbances of
+note had taken place in the Carlyle household. The wife may occasionally
+have been sad and lonely when her husband was preoccupied with his
+studies; but this she ought to have anticipated in marrying a literary
+man whose only support was from his pen. Carlyle, too, was an inveterate
+smoker, and she detested tobacco, so that he did not spend as much time
+in the parlor as he did in his library, where he could smoke to his
+heart's content. On the whole, however, their letters show genuine
+mutual affection, and as much connubial happiness as is common to most
+men and women, with far more of intimate intellectual and spiritual
+congeniality. Carlyle, certainly, in all his letters, ever speaks of his
+wife with admiration and gratitude. He regarded her as not only the most
+talented woman that he had ever known, but as the one without whom he
+was miserable. They were the best of comrades and companions from first
+to last, when at home together.</p>
+
+<p>For a considerable period after the publication of the Life of Cromwell,
+Carlyle was apparently idle. He wrote for several years nothing of note
+except his &quot;Latter Day Pamphlets&quot; (1850), and a Life of his friend John
+Sterling (1851), to whom he was tenderly attached. It would seem that he
+was now in easy circumstances, although he retained to the end his
+economical habits. He amused himself with travelling, and with frequent
+visits to distinguished people in the country. If not a society man, he
+was much sought; he dined often at the tables of the great, and
+personally knew almost every man of note in London. He sturdily took his
+place among distinguished men,--the intellectual peer of the greatest.
+He often met Macaulay, but was not intimate with him. I doubt if they
+even exchanged visits. The reason for this may have been that they were
+not congenial to each other in anything, and that the social position of
+Macaulay was immeasurably higher than Carlyle's. It would be hard to say
+which was the greater man.</p>
+
+<p>It was not until 1852 or 1853, when Carlyle was fifty-eight, that he
+seriously set himself to write his Life of Frederic II., his last great
+work, on which he perseveringly labored for thirteen years. It is an
+exhaustive history of the Prussian hero, and is regarded in Germany as
+the standard work on that great monarch and general. The first volume
+came out in 1858, and the last in 1865. It is a marvel of industry and
+accuracy,--the most elaborate of all his works, but probably the least
+read because of its enormous length and scholastic pedantries. It might
+be said to bear the same relation to his &quot;French Revolution&quot; that
+&quot;Romola&quot; does to &quot;Adam Bede.&quot; In this book Carlyle made no new
+revelations, as he did in his Life of Cromwell. He did not change
+essentially the opinion of mankind. Frederick the Great, in his hands,
+still stands out as an unscrupulous public enemy,--a robber and a
+tyrant. His crimes are only partially redeemed by his heroism,
+especially when Europe was in arms against him. There is the same defect
+in this great work that there is in the Life of Cromwell,--the
+inculcation of the doctrine that might makes right; that we may do evil
+that good may come,--thus putting expediency above eternal justice, and
+palliating crimes because of their success. It is difficult to account
+for Carlyle's decline in moral perceptions, when we consider that his
+personal life was so far above reproach.</p>
+
+<p>Although the Life of Frederick is a work of transcendent industry, it
+did not add to Carlyle's popularity, which had been undermined by his
+bitter attacks on society in his various pamphlets. At this period he
+was still looked up to with reverence as a great intellectual giant; but
+that love for him which had been felt by those who were aroused to
+honest thinking by his earlier writings had passed away. A new
+generation looked upon him as an embittered and surly old man. His
+services were not forgotten, but he was no longer a favorite,--no longer
+an inspiring guide. His writings continued to stimulate thought, but
+were no longer regarded as sound. Commonplace people never did like him,
+probably because they never understood him. His admirers were among the
+young, the enthusiastic, the hopeful, the inquiring; and when their
+veneration passed away, there were few left to uphold his real greatness
+and noble character. One might suppose that Carlyle would have been
+unhappy to alienate so many persons, especially old admirers. In fact, I
+apprehend that he cared little for anybody's admiration or flattery. He
+lived in an atmosphere so infinitely above small and envious and
+detracting people that he was practically independent of human
+sympathies. Had he been doomed to live with commonplace persons, he
+might have sought to conciliate them; but he really lived in another
+sphere,--not perhaps higher than theirs, but eternally distinct,--in the
+sphere of abstract truth. To him most people were either babblers or
+bores. What did he care for their envious shafts, or even for their
+honest disapprobation!</p>
+
+<p>Hence, the last days of this great man were not his best days, although
+he was not without honor. He was made Lord Rector of the University of
+Edinburgh, and delivered a fine address on the occasion; and later,
+Disraeli, when prime minister, offered him knighthood, with the Grand
+Cross of the Order of the Bath and a pension, which he declined. The
+author of the &quot;Sartor Resartus&quot; did not care for titles. He preferred to
+remain simply Thomas Carlyle.</p>
+
+<p>While Carlyle was in the midst of honors in Edinburgh, his wife, who had
+long been in poor health, suddenly died, April 21, 1866. This affliction
+was a terrible blow to Carlyle, from which he never recovered. It filled
+out his measure of sorrow, deep and sad, and hard to be borne. His
+letters after this are full of pathos and plaintive sadness. He could
+not get resigned to his loss, for his wife had been more and more his
+staff and companion as years had advanced. The Queen sent her sympathy,
+but nothing could console him. He was then seventy-one years old, and
+his work was done. His remaining years were those of loneliness and
+sorrow and suffering. He visited friends, but they amused him not. He
+wrote reminiscences, but his isolation remained. He sought out
+charities when he himself was the object of compassion,--a sad old man
+who could not sleep. He tried to interest himself in politics, but time
+hung heavy on his hands. He read much and thought more, but assumed no
+fresh literary work. He had enough to do to correct proof-sheets of new
+editions of his works. His fiercest protests were now against atheism in
+its varied forms. In 1870, Mr. Erskine, his last Scotch friend, died. In
+1873 he writes: &quot;More and more dreary, barren, base, and ugly seem to me
+all the aspects of this poor, diminishing quack-world,--fallen openly
+anarchic, doomed to a death which one can wish to be speedy.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Poor old man! He has survived his friends, his pleasures, his labors,
+almost his fame; he is sick, and weary of life, which to him has become
+a blank. Pity it is, he could not have died when &quot;Cromwell&quot; was
+completed. He drags on his forlorn life, without wife or children, and
+with only a few friends, in disease and ennui and discontent, almost
+alone, until he is eighty-five.</p>
+
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&quot;To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Creeps on this petty pace from day to day<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; To the last syllable of recorded time;<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And all our yesterdays have lighted fools<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And then is heard no more. It is a tale<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Signifying nothing.&quot;<br>
+
+<p>The relief came at last. It was on a cold day in February, 1881, that
+Lecky, Froude, and Tyndall, alone of his London friends, accompanied his
+mortal remains to Ecclefechan, where he was buried by the graves of his
+father and mother. He might have rested in the vaults of Westminster;
+but he chose to lie in a humble churchyard, near where he was born.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;In future years,&quot; says his able and interesting biographer, &quot;Scotland
+will have raised a monument over his remains; but no monument is needed
+for one who has made an eternal memorial for himself in the hearts of
+all to whom truth is the dearest possession.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;'For, giving his soul to the common cause, he won for himself a wreath
+which will not fade, and a tomb the most honorable,--not where his dust
+is decaying, but where his glory lives in everlasting remembrance. For
+of illustrious men all the earth is the sepulchre; and it is not the
+inscribed column in their own land which is the record of their virtues,
+but the unwritten memories of them in the hearts and minds of all
+mankind.'&quot; <a name="FNanchor1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1"><sup>[1]</sup></a></p>
+
+<a name="Footnote_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor1">[1]</a> Quoted by Froude from the Funeral Oration of Pericles in
+honor of the Athenians slain during the first summer of the
+Peloponnesian War, as given by Thucydides,--&quot;their,&quot; &quot;they,&quot; etc. being
+changed to &quot;his,&quot; &quot;he,&quot; etc.
+
+<p>Thomas Carlyle will always have an honorable place among the great men
+of his time. He was pre-eminently a profound thinker, a severe critic, a
+great word-painter,--a man of uncommon original gifts, who aroused and
+instructed his generation. In the literal sense, he was neither
+philosopher nor poet nor statesman, but a man of genius, who cast his
+searching and fearless glance into all creeds, systems, and public
+movements, denouncing hypocrisies, shams, and lies with such power that
+he lost friends almost as fast as he made them,--without, however,
+losing the respect and admiration of his literary rivals, or of the
+ablest and best men both in England and America. Although no believer in
+the scientific philosophies of our time, he was a great breaker of
+ground for them, having been a pioneer in the cause of honest thinking
+and plain speaking. His passion for truth, and courage in declaring his
+own vision of it, were potent for spiritual liberty. He stands as one of
+the earliest and stoutest champions of that revolt against authority in
+religious, intellectual, and social matters which has chiefly marked the
+Nineteenth Century.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><hr style="width: 35%;"><br><br>
+<h2><a name="LORD_MACAULAY."></a>LORD MACAULAY.</h2>
+
+<hr style="width: 25%;">
+
+<p>1800-1859.</p>
+
+<p>ARTISTIC HISTORICAL WRITING.</p>
+
+<p>Among the eminent men of letters of the present century, Thomas
+Babington Macaulay takes a very high position. In original genius he was
+inferior to Carlyle, but was greater in learning, in judgment, and
+especially in felicity of style. He was an historical artist of the
+foremost rank, the like of whom has not appeared since Voltaire; and he
+was, moreover, no mean poet, and might have been distinguished as such,
+had poetry been his highest pleasure and ambition. The same may be said
+of him as a political orator. Very few men in the House of Commons ever
+surpassed him in the power of making an eloquent speech. He was too
+impetuous and dogmatic to be a great debater, like Fox or Pitt or Peel
+or Gladstone; but he might have reached a more exalted and influential
+position as a statesman had he confined his remarkable talents
+to politics.</p>
+
+<p>But letters were the passion of Macaulay, from his youth up; and his
+remarkably tenacious memory--abnormal, as it seems to me--enabled him to
+bring his vast store of facts to support plausibly any position he chose
+to take. At fifty years of age, he had probably read more books than any
+man in Europe since Gibbon and Niebuhr; he literally devoured everything
+he could put his hands upon, without cramming for a special
+object,--especially the Greek and Latin Classics, which he read over and
+over again, not so much for knowledge as for the pleasure it gave him as
+a literary critic and a student of artistic excellence.</p>
+
+<p>Macaulay was of Scotch descent, like so many eminent historians, poets,
+critics, and statesmen who adorned the early and middle part of the
+nineteenth century,--Scott, Burns, Carlyle, Jeffrey, Dundas, Playfair,
+Wilson, Napier, Mackintosh, Robertson, Alison; a group of geniuses that
+lived in Edinburgh, and made its society famous,--to say nothing of
+great divines and philosophers like Chalmers and Stewart and Hamilton.
+Macaulay belonged to a good family, the most distinguished members of
+which were clergymen,--with the exception of his uncle, General
+Macaulay, who made a fortune in India; and his father, the celebrated
+merchant and philanthropist, Zachary Macaulay, who did more than any
+other man, Wilberforce excepted, to do away with the slave-trade, and
+to abolish slavery in the West India Islands.</p>
+
+<p>Zachary Macaulay was the most modest and religious of men, and after an
+eventful life in Africa as governor of the colony of Sierra Leone,
+settled in Clapham, near London, with a handsome fortune. He belonged to
+that famous evangelical set who made Clapham famous, and whose
+extraordinary piety and philanthropy are commemorated by Sir James
+Stephen in one of his most interesting essays. They resembled in
+peculiarities the early Quakers and primitive Methodists, and though
+very narrow were much respected for their unostentatious benevolence,
+blended with public spirit.</p>
+
+<p>Macaulay was born at Rothley Temple, in Leicestershire, Oct. 25, 1800,
+but it was at Clapham that his boyhood was chiefly spent. His precocity
+startled every one who visited his father's hospitable home. At the age
+of three he would lie at full length on the carpet eagerly reading. He
+was never seen without an open book in his hands, even during his walks.
+He cared nothing for the sports of his companions. He could neither
+ride, nor drive, nor swim, nor row a boat, nor play a game of tennis or
+foot-ball. He cared only for books of all sorts, which he seized upon
+with inextinguishable curiosity, and stored their contents in his
+memory. When a boy, he had learned the &quot;Paradise Lost&quot; by heart. He did
+not care to go to school, because it interrupted his reading. Hannah
+More, a frequent visitor at Clapham and a warm friend of the family,
+gazed upon him with amazement, but was too wise and conscientious to
+spoil him by her commendations. At eight years of age he also had great
+facility in making verses, which were more than tolerable.</p>
+
+<p>Zachary Macaulay objected to his son being educated in one of the great
+schools in England, like Westminster and Harrow, and he was therefore
+sent to a private school kept by an evangelical divine who had been a
+fellow at Cambridge,--a good scholar, but narrow in his theological
+views. Indeed, Macaulay got enough of Calvinism before he went to
+college, and was so unwisely crammed with it at home and at school, that
+through life he had a repugnance to the evangelical doctrines of the Low
+Church, with which, much to the grief of his father, he associated cant,
+always his especial abhorrence and disgust. While Macaulay venerated his
+father, he had little sympathy with his views, and never loved him as he
+did his own sisters. He did his filial duty, and that was
+all,--contributed largely to his father's support in later life, treated
+him with profound respect, but was never drawn to him in affectionate
+frankness and confidence.</p>
+
+<p>It cannot be disguised that Macaulay was worldly in his turn of mind,
+intensely practical, and ambitious of distinction as soon as he became
+conscious of his great powers, although in his school-days he was very
+modest and retiring. He was not religiously inclined, nor at all
+spiritually minded. An omnivorous reader seldom is narrow, and seldom is
+profound. Macaulay was no exception. He admired Pascal, but only for his
+exquisite style and his trenchant irony. He saw little in Augustine
+except his vast acquaintance with Latin authors. He carefully avoided
+writing on the Schoolmen, or Calvin, or the great divines of the
+seventeenth century. Bunyan he admired for his genius and perspicuous
+style rather than for his sentiments. Even his famous article on Bacon
+is deficient in spiritual insight; it is a description of the man rather
+than a dissertation on his philosophy. Macaulay's greatness was
+intellectual rather than moral; and his mental power was that of the
+scholar and the rhetorical artist rather than the thinker. In his
+masterly way of arraying facts he has never been surpassed; and in this
+he was so skilful that it mattered little which side he took. Like
+Daniel Webster, he could make any side appear plausible. Doubtless in
+the law he might have become a great advocate, had he not preferred
+literary composition instead. Had he lived in the times of the Grecian
+Sophists, he might have baffled Socrates,--not by his logic, but by his
+learning and his aptness of illustration.</p>
+
+<p>Macaulay entered Trinity College, Cambridge, in 1818, being a healthy,
+robust young man of eighteen, after five years' training in Greek and
+Latin, having the eldest son of Wilberforce for a school companion.
+Among his contemporaries and friends at Cambridge were Charles Austin,
+Praed, Derwent Coleridge, Hyde Villiers, and Romilly; but I infer from
+his Life by Trevelyan that his circle of intimate friends was not so
+large as it would have been had he been fitted for college at
+Westminster or Eton. Nor at this time were his pecuniary circumstances
+encouraging. After he had obtained his first degree he supported
+himself, while studying for a fellowship, by taking a couple of pupils
+for &pound;100 a year. Eventually he gained a fellowship worth &pound;300 a year,
+which was his main support for seven years, until he obtained a
+government office in London. He probably would have found it easier to
+get a fellowship at Oxford than at Cambridge, since mathematics were
+uncongenial to him, his forte being languages. He was most distinguished
+at college for English composition and Latin declamation. In 1819 he
+wrote a poem, &quot;Pompeii,&quot; which gained him the chancellor's medal,--a
+distinction won again in 1821 by a poem on &quot;Evening,&quot; while the same
+year gave him the Craven scholarship for his classical attainments. He
+took his bachelor's degree in 1822, and was made a fellow of Trinity
+College. He did not obtain his fellowship, however, until his third
+trial, being no favorite with those who had prizes and honors to bestow,
+because of his neglect of science and mathematics.</p>
+
+<p>As a profession, Macaulay made choice of the law, being called to the
+bar in 1826, and at Leeds joined the Northern Circuit, of which Brougham
+was the leading star. But the law was not his delight. He did not like
+its technicalities. He spent most of his time in his chambers in
+literary composition, or in the galleries of the House of Commons
+listening to the debates. He never applied himself seriously to anything
+which &quot;went against the grain.&quot; At Court he got no briefs, but his
+fellowship enabled him to live by practising economy. He also wrote
+occasional essays--excellent but not remarkable--for Knight's Quarterly
+Magazine. It was in this periodical, too, that his early poems were
+published; but he did not devote much time to this field of letters,
+although, as we have said, he might undoubtedly have succeeded in it.
+His poetry, if he had never written anything else, would not be
+considered much inferior to that of Sir Walter Scott, being full of life
+and action, and, like most everything else he did, winning him applause.
+Years later he felt the risk of publishing his &quot;Lays of Ancient Rome;&quot;
+but as he knew what he could do and what he could not do, or rather what
+would be popular, he was not disappointed. The poems were well
+received, for they were eminently picturesque and vital, as well as
+strong, masculine, and unadorned; the rhyme and metre were also
+felicitous. He had no obscurities, and the spirit of his Lays was
+patriotic and ardent, showing his love of liberty. I think his &quot;Battle
+of Ivry&quot; is equal to anything that Scott wrote. Yet Macaulay is not
+regarded by the critics as a true poet; that is, he did not write poetry
+because he must, like Burns and Byron. His poetry was not spontaneous;
+it was a manufactured article,--very good of its kind, but not such as
+to have given him the fame which his prose writings made for him.</p>
+
+<p>It was not, however, until his article on Milton appeared in the
+Edinburgh Review in 1825, that Macaulay's great career began. Like
+Byron, he woke up one morning to find himself famous. Everybody read and
+admired an essay the style of which was new and striking. &quot;Where did you
+pick up that style?&quot; wrote Jeffrey to the briefless barrister. It
+transcended in brilliancy anything which had yet appeared in the
+Edinburgh or Quarterly. Brougham became envious, and treated the rising
+light with no magnanimity or admiration.</p>
+
+<p>Of course, the author of such an uncommon article as that on Milton, the
+praise of which was in everybody's mouth, had invitations to dinner from
+distinguished people; and these were most eagerly accepted. Macaulay
+rapidly became a social favorite, sought for his brilliant conversation,
+which was as remarkable for a young man of twenty-six as were his
+writings in the foremost literary journal of the world. He was not
+handsome, and was carelessly dressed; but he had a massive head, and
+rugged yet benevolent features, which lighted up with peculiar animation
+when he was excited. One of the first persons of note to welcome him to
+her table was Lady Holland, an accomplished but eccentric and
+plain-spoken woman, who seems to have greatly admired him. He was a
+frequent guest at Holland House, where for nearly half-a-century the
+courtly and distinguished Lord Holland and his wife entertained the most
+eminent men and women of the time. This gratified young Macaulay's
+inordinate social ambition. He scarcely mentions in his letters at this
+time any but peers and peeresses.</p>
+
+<p>And yet he did not court the society of those he did not respect. He was
+not a parasite or a flatterer even of the great, but met them apparently
+on equal terms, as a monarch of the mind. He was at home in any circle
+that was not ignorant or frivolous. He was more easy than genial, for
+his prejudices or intellectual pride made him unkind to persons of
+mediocrity. It was a bold thing to cross his path, for he came down
+like an avalanche on those who opposed him, not so much in anger as in
+contempt. I do not find that his circle of literary friends was large or
+intimate. He seldom alludes to Carlyle or Bulwer or Thackeray or
+Dickens. He has more to say of Rogers and Lord Jeffrey, and other pets
+of aristocratic circles,--those who were conventionally favored, like
+Sydney Smith; or those who gave banquets to people of fashion, like Lord
+Lansdowne. These were the people he loved best to associate with, who
+listened to his rhetoric with rapt admiration, who did not pique his
+vanity, and who had something to give to him,--position and <i>&eacute;clat</i>.</p>
+
+<p>Macaulay was not a vain man, nor even egotistical; but he had a
+tremendous self-consciousness, which annoyed his equals in literary
+fame, and repelled such a giant as Brougham, who had no idea of sharing
+his throne with any one,--being more overbearing even than Macaulay, but
+more human. This new rival in the Edinburgh Review, of which for a long
+time Brougham had been dictator, was, much to Jeffrey's annoyance, not
+convivial. He did not drink two bottles at a sitting, but guarded his
+health and preserved his simple habits. Though he speaks with gusto of
+Lord Holland's turtle and turbot and venison and grouse, he was content
+when alone with a mutton-chop and a few glasses of sherry, or the
+October ale of Cambridge, which was a part of his perquisites as
+Fellow. He was very exclusive, in view of the fact that he was a poor
+man, without aristocratic antecedents or many powerful friends. Outside
+the class of rank and fashion, his friends seem to have been leading
+politicians of the Liberal school, the stanch Whigs who passed the
+Reform Bill, to whom he was true. To his credit, his happiest hours were
+spent with his sisters in the quiet seclusion of his father's modest
+home. All his best letters were to them; and in these he detailed his
+intercourse with the great, and the splendor of their banquets
+and balls.</p>
+
+<p>Macaulay's rise, after he had written his famous article on Milton, was
+rapid. The article itself, striking as it is, must be confessed to be
+disappointing in so far as it attempted to criticise the &quot;Paradise Lost&quot;
+and Milton's other poems. Macaulay's genius was historical, not
+critical; and the essay is notable rather for its review of the times of
+Charles I. and Archbishop Laud, of the Puritans and the Royalists, than
+for its literary flavor, except as a brilliant piece of composition. It
+was, however, the picturesque style of the new writer which was the
+chief attraction, and the fact that the essay came from so young a man.
+Macaulay followed the Milton essay with others on Macchiavelli, Dryden,
+Hallam's &quot;Constitutional History,&quot; and on history in general, which
+displayed to great advantage his unusual learning, his keen historic
+instinct, and his splendor of style. He became the most popular
+contributor to the Edinburgh Review, which was beginning to be dull and
+heavy; and this kept him before the eyes of politicians and
+professional men.</p>
+
+<p>Macaulay's ambition was now divided between literature and politics. His
+first appearance as a public speaker was at an annual anti-slavery
+convention in London, in 1826, when he made a marked impression. He
+eagerly embraced the offer of a seat in the House of Commons, which was
+secured to him in 1830; and as soon as he entered Parliament he began to
+make speeches, which were carefully composed and probably committed to
+memory. At a single bound he became one of the leading orators of that
+renowned assembly. Some of his orations were masterpieces of argument
+and rhetoric in favor of reform, and of all liberal movements in
+philanthropy and education. In the opinion of eminent statesmen he was
+the most &quot;rising&quot; member of the House, and sure to become a leader among
+the Whigs. But he was poor, having only about &pound;500 a year--the proceeds
+of his fellowship and his literary productions--to support his dignity
+as a legislator and meet the calls of society; so that in 1833 he was
+rewarded with an office in the Board of Control, which regulated the
+affairs of India; this doubled his income, and made him independent.
+But he wanted an office in which he could lay up money for future
+contingencies. Therefore, in 1834, he gladly resigned his seat in
+Parliament and accepted the situation of a member of the Supreme Council
+of India, on a salary of &pound;10,000 a year, &pound;7000 of which he continued to
+save yearly; so that at the end of four years, when he returned to
+England, he had become a rich man, or at least independent, with leisure
+to do whatever he pleased.</p>
+
+<p>In India, as chairman of the Board of Education, as legal adviser of the
+Council, and in drafting a code of penal laws for that part of the
+Empire, he was very useful,--although as a matter of fact the new code
+was too theoretically fine to be practical, and was never put in force.
+His personal good sense was equal to his industry and his talents, and
+he preserved his health by strict habits of temperance. Even in that
+tropical country he presented a strong contrast to the sallow, bilious
+officials with whom he was surrounded, and in due time returned to
+England in perfect health, one of the most robust of men, capable of
+indefinite work, which never seemed to weary him.</p>
+
+<p>But in Calcutta, as in London, he employed his leisure hours in writing
+for the Edinburgh Review, and gave an immense impulse to its sale, for
+which he was amply rewarded. Brougham complained to Jeffrey that his
+essays took up too much space in the Review, but the politic editor knew
+what was for its interest and popularity. Macaulay's long articles of
+sometimes over a hundred pages were received without a murmur; and every
+article he wrote added to his fame, since he always did his best. His
+essays in 1830 on Southey and Montgomery, and one in 1831 on Croker's
+edition of Boswell's Life of Johnson, were fierce, scathing onslaughts,
+even cruel and crushing,--revealing Macaulay's tremendous powers of
+invective and remorseless criticism, but reflecting little credit on his
+disposition or his judgment. His Hampden (1831) and his Burleigh (1832)
+remain among his finest and most inspiring historical paintings. His
+first essay on Lord Chatham (1834) is a notable piece of
+characterization; the one on Sir James Mackintosh (1835) is a most acute
+and brilliant historical criticism; the one on Lord Bacon (1837) is
+striking and has become famous, but shows Macaulay's deficiency in
+philosophic thought, besides being sophistical in spirit; and the
+article on Sir William Temple (1837)--really a history of England during
+the reign of William III.--is thoroughly fine.</p>
+
+<p>Macaulay's residence in India, so far as political ambition was
+concerned, may have been a mistake. It withdrew him from an arena in
+which he could have risen to great distinction and influence as a
+parliamentary orator. He might have been a second Fox, whom he resembled
+in the impetuosity of his rhetoric, if he had also possessed Fox's
+talents as a debater. Yet he was not a born leader of men. As a
+parliamentary orator he was simply a speech-maker, like the Unitarian
+minister Fox, or that still abler man the Quaker Bright, both of whom
+were great rhetoricians. It is probable that he himself understood his
+true sphere, which was that of a literary man,--an historical critic,
+appealing to intelligent people rather than to learned pedants in the
+universities. His service in India enabled him to write for the
+remainder of his life with an untrammelled pen, and to live in comfort
+and ease, enjoying the <i>otium cum dignitate</i>, to which he attached
+supreme importance,--so different from Carlyle, who toiled in poverty at
+Chelsea to declare truth for truth's sake, grumbling, yet lofty in his
+meditations, the depth of which Macaulay was incapable of appreciating.</p>
+
+<p>It is, then, as a man of letters rather than as a politician that our
+author merits his exalted fame. Respectable as a member of the House of
+Commons, or as a jurist in India in compiling a code of laws, yet
+neither as a statesman nor as a jurist was he in his right place. The
+leaders of his party may have admired and praised his oratory, but they
+wanted something more practical than orations,--they wanted the control
+of men; and so, too, the government demanded a code which would exact
+the esteem of lawyers and meet the wants of India rather than a
+composition which would read well. But as an historical critic and a
+luminous writer, Macaulay had no superior,--a fact which no one knew
+better than himself.</p>
+
+<p>In 1838, on his return from India,--where he had regarded himself as in
+honorable exile,--Macaulay had accumulated a fortune of &pound;30,000, to him
+more than a competency. This, added to the legacy of &pound;10,000 which he
+had received from his uncle, General Macaulay, secured to him
+independence and leisure to pursue his literary work, which was
+paramount to every other consideration. If both from pleasure and
+ambition there ever was a man devoted heart and soul and body to a
+literary career, it was Macaulay. Nor would he now accept any political
+office which seriously interfered with the passion of his life. Still
+less would he waste his time at the dinner parties of the great, no
+longer to him a novelty. He was eminently social by nature, and fond of
+talk and controversy, with a superb physique capable of digesting the
+richest dishes, and of enduring the fatigues and ceremonies of
+fashionable life; but even the pleasures of the banquet and of
+cultivated society, to many a mere relaxation, were sacrificed to his
+fondness for books,--to him the greatest and truest companionship,
+especially when they introduced him to the life and manners of by-gone
+ages, and to communion with the master-minds of the world.</p>
+
+<p>For relaxation, Macaulay preferred to take long walks; lounge around the
+book-stalls; visit the sights of London with his nieces; invite his
+intimate friends to simple dinners at The Albany; amuse himself with
+trifles, especially in company with those he loved best, in the domestic
+circle of his relatives, whom he treated ever with the most familiar and
+affectionate sympathy,--so that while they loved and revered him, they
+had no idea that &quot;Uncle Tom&quot; was a great man. His most interesting
+letters were to his sisters and nieces, whose amusement and welfare he
+had constantly in view, and who were more to him than all the world
+besides. Indeed, he did not write many letters except to his relatives,
+his publishers, and his intimate friends, who were few, considering the
+number of persons he was obliged to meet. He was a thoroughly domestic
+man, although he never married or wished to marry.</p>
+
+<p>It surprises me that Macaulay's intercourse with eminent authors was so
+constrained. He saw very little of them; but while he did not avoid
+talking with them when thrown among them, and keeping up the courtesies
+of life even with those he thoroughly disliked, I cannot see any
+evidence that he sought the society of those who were regarded as his
+equals in genius. He liked Milman and Mackintosh and Napier and Jeffrey
+and Rogers, and a few others; but his intimate intercourse was confined
+chiefly to these and to his family.</p>
+
+<p>Macaulay's fame, however, was substantially founded and built. Sydney
+Smith's witty characterization of him is worth recalling:--</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I always prophesied his greatness from the first moment I saw him, then
+a very young and unknown man on the Northern Circuit. There are no
+limits to his knowledge, on small subjects as well as great; he is like
+a book in breeches.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Yes, I agree, he is certainly more agreeable since his return from
+India. His enemies might have said before (though <i>I</i> never did so) that
+he talked rather too much; but now he has occasional flashes of silence
+that make his conversation perfectly delightful. But what is far better
+and more important than all this is, that I believe Macaulay to be
+incorruptible. You might lay ribbons, stars, garters, wealth, title,
+before him in vain. He has an honest, genuine love of his country; and
+the world could not bribe him to neglect her interests.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Macaulay now devoted several weeks of every year to travel, visiting
+different parts of England and the Continent as the mood took him. In
+the autumn of 1838 he visited Italy, it would seem for the first time,
+and was, of course, enchanted. He appreciated natural scenery, but was
+not enthusiastic over it; nor did it make a very deep impression on him
+except for the moment. He loved best to visit cities and places
+consecrated by classical associations.</p>
+
+<p>While at Rome, Macaulay received from Lord Melbourne the offer of the
+office of Judge Advocate; but he unhesitatingly declined it. The salary
+of &pound;2500 was nothing to a scholar who already had a comfortable
+independence; and the duties the situation imposed were not only
+uncongenial, but would interfere with his literary labors.</p>
+
+<p>In February, 1839, he returned to London; and now the pressure on him by
+his political friends to re-enter public life was greater than he could
+resist. He was elected to Parliament as one of the members from
+Edinburgh, and gave his usual support to his party. In September he
+became War Secretary, with a seat in the Whig Cabinet under Lord
+Melbourne. Consequently he suspended for a while his literary tasks,
+conducting the business of his department with commendable industry, but
+without enthusiasm. In the session of 1840 and 1841, during the angry
+discussions pertaining to the registration of votes in Ireland, he gave
+proof of having profited by the severe legal training he had received
+from his labors in India. During these years he found time to write a
+few reviews, the one on Lord Olive being the most prominent.</p>
+
+<p>The great subject of political agitation at this period was the repeal
+of the Corn Laws. The Whig leaders had lost the earnestness which had
+marked their grand efforts when they carried the Reform Bill of 1832,
+and were more indifferent to further reforms than suited their
+constituents; so that, at a dangerous financial crisis in 1841, the
+direction of public affairs fell into the hands of the Tories, under Sir
+Robert Peel. This great man not only rescued the nation from its fiscal
+embarrassments, but having been convinced by the arguments of Cobden of
+the necessity of repealing the Corn Laws, he carried through that great
+reform, to the disgust of his party and to his own undying fame. I have
+treated of this period more at large in another volume of this
+series.<a name="FNanchor2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2"><sup>[2]</sup></a></p>
+
+<a name="Footnote_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor2">[2]</a> Beacon Lights of History: European Leaders.
+
+<p>Macaulay was not much moved by the fall of the ministry to which he
+belonged, and gladly resumed his literary labors,--the first fruits of
+his leisure being an essay on Warren Hastings, a companion piece to the
+one on Clive.</p>
+
+<p>These East Indian essays constitute the most picturesque and graphic
+account of British conquests in that ancient land that has been given
+to the public. Macaulay's intimate knowledge of the ground, and his
+literary resources, enabled him to picture the dazzling successes of
+Clive and Hastings; so that the careers of those superb military
+chieftains and commercial robber-statesmen, in securing for their
+country the control of a distant province larger than France, and in
+enriching the British Empire and themselves beyond all precedent in
+conquest, stand splendidly portrayed forever.</p>
+
+<p>Macaulay had now taken apartments in The Albany, on the second floor, to
+which he removed his large library, and in which he comfortably lived
+for fifteen years. His article on Warren Hastings was followed by that
+on Frederic the Great. His numerous articles in the Edinburgh Review had
+now become so popular that there was a great demand for them in a
+separate form. Curiously enough, as in the case of Carlyle, it was in
+America that the public appreciation of these essays first took the form
+of book publication; and Macaulay's &quot;Miscellanies&quot; were published in
+Boston in 1840, and in Philadelphia in 1842. As these volumes began to
+go to England, for Macaulay's own protection they were republished by
+Longman, revised by the author, in 1843, and obtained an immediate and
+immense sale,--reaching one hundred and twenty thousand copies in
+England,--which added to the fame and income of Macaulay. But he was
+never satisfied with the finish of his own productions; the only thing
+which seemed to comfort him was that the last essays were better than
+the first. In addition to his labors for the Edinburgh, was the
+publication of a volume of his poems in 1842, which was also
+enthusiastically received by his admirers. His last notable essays were
+a chivalrous article on Madame D'Arblay (January, 1843); an entirely
+charming account of Addison and the wits of Queen Anne's reign (July,
+1843); an interesting review of the Memoirs of Bar&egrave;re, the French
+revolutionist and writer (April, 1844); and finally a second article on
+Lord Chatham (October, 1844), which is considered finer than the first
+one written twenty years earlier. More and more, however, the project of
+writing a History of England had taken possession of him, and he began
+now to forego all other literary occupation, and to devote all his
+leisure time to that great work.</p>
+
+<p>During much of the time that Macaulay had continued writing his reviews,
+at the rate of about two in a year, he was an active member of
+Parliament, frequently addressing the House of Commons, and earning the
+gratitude of the country by his liberal and enlightened
+views,--especially those in reference to the right of Unitarians to
+their chapels, to the enlarged money-grant given to the Irish Roman
+Catholic Maynooth College, and to the extension of copyrights. He
+rarely spoke without careful preparation. His speeches were forcible and
+fine. In the higher field of debate, however, as we have already
+intimated, he was not successful. In 1845 Sir Robert Peel retired, the
+Whigs again coming into power; and in 1846 Macaulay accepted the office
+of Paymaster of the Forces, because its duties were comparatively light
+and would not much interfere with his literary labors, while it added
+&pound;2000 a year to his income. During the session of 1846 and 1847, while
+still in Parliament, he spoke only five times, although the House was
+ever ready to listen to him.</p>
+
+<p>In the year 1847 the disruption of the Scotch Church was effected, and
+in the bitterness engendered by that movement Macaulay lost his
+popularity with his Edinburgh constituents. He seemed indifferent to
+their affairs; he answered their letters irregularly and with almost
+contemptuous brevity. He had no sympathy with the radicals who at that
+time controlled a large number of votes, and he refused to contribute
+towards electioneering expenses. Above all, he was absorbed in his
+History, and had lost much of his interest in politics. In consequence
+he failed to be re-elected, and not unwillingly retired to private life.</p>
+
+<p>Macaulay now concentrated all his energies on the History, which
+occupied his thoughts, his studies, and his pen for the most part during
+the remainder of his life. The first two volumes were published in the
+latter part of 1848; and the sale was immense, surpassing that of any
+historical work in the history of literature, and coming near to the
+sale of the novels of Sir Walter Scott. The popularity of the work was
+not confined to scholars and statesmen and critics, but it was equally
+admired by ordinary readers; and not in England and Scotland alone, but
+in the United States, in France, in Holland, in Germany, and other
+countries.</p>
+
+<p>The labor expended on these books was prodigious. The author visited in
+person nearly all the localities in England and Ireland where the events
+he narrated took place. He ransacked the archives of most of the
+governments of Europe, and all the libraries to which he could gain
+access, public and private. He worked twelve hours a day, and yet
+produced on an average only two printed pages daily,--so careful was he
+in verifying his facts and in arranging his materials, writing and
+rewriting until no further improvement could be made.</p>
+
+<p>This book was not merely the result of his researches for the last
+fifteen years of his life, but of his general reading for nearly fifty
+years, when everything he read he remembered. Says Thackeray, &quot;He reads
+twenty books to write a sentence; he travels one hundred miles to make a
+line of description.&quot; The extent and exactness of his knowledge were not
+only marvellous, but almost incredible. Mr. Buckle declared that
+Macaulay was perfectly accurate in all the facts which Buckle had
+himself investigated to write his &quot;History of Civilization;&quot; and so
+particular was he in the selection of words that he never allowed a
+sentence to pass muster until it was as good as he could make it. &quot;He
+thought little of reconstructing a paragraph,&quot; says his biographer, &quot;for
+the sake of one happy illustration.&quot; He submitted to the most tiresome
+mechanical drudgery in the correction of his proof-sheets. The clearness
+of his thought amid the profusion of his knowledge was represented in
+his writing by a remarkable conciseness of expression. His short,
+vigorous sentences are compact with details of fact, yet rich with
+color. His terseness has been compared to that of Tacitus. His power of
+condensation, aptness of phrase and epithet, and indomitable industry
+made him a master of rhetorical effect, in the use of his multifarious
+learning for the illustration of his themes.</p>
+
+<p>As soon as his last proof-sheet had been despatched to the printers,
+Macaulay at once fell to reading a series of historians from Herodotus
+downward, to measure his writings with theirs. Thucydides especially
+utterly destroyed all the conceit which naturally would arise from his
+unbounded popularity, as expressed in every social and literary circle,
+as well as in the Reviews. Like Michael Angelo, this Englishman was
+never satisfied with his own productions; and the only comfort he took
+in the impossibility of realizing his ideal was in the comparison he
+made of his own works with similar ones by contemporary authors. Then he
+was content; and then only appeared in his letters and diary that
+good-natured, self-satisfied feeling which arose from the consciousness
+that he was one of the most fortunate authors who had ever lived. There
+was nothing cynical in his sense of superiority, but an amiable
+self-assertion and self-confidence that only made men smile,--as when
+Lord Palmerston remarked that &quot;he wished he was as certain of any one
+thing as Tom Macaulay was of everything.&quot; This self-confidence rarely
+provoked opposition, except when he was positive as to things outside
+his sphere. He wrote and talked sensibly and luminously on financial and
+social questions, on art, on poetry and the drama, on philosophy and
+theology; but on these subjects he was not an authority with
+specialists. In other words, he did not, so to speak, know everything
+profoundly, but only superficially; yet in history, especially English
+history, he was profound in analysis as well as brilliant in the
+narration of facts, even when there was disagreement between himself and
+others as to inductions he drew from those facts,--inductions colored by
+his strong prejudices and aristocratic surroundings.</p>
+
+<p>Macaulay was not always consistent with his own theories, however. For
+instance, he was a firm believer in the progress of society and of
+civilization. He saw the enormous gulf between the ninth and the
+nineteenth centuries, and the unmistakable advance which, since the
+times of Hildebrand, the world had made in knowledge, in the arts, in
+liberty, and in the comforts of life, although the tide of progress had
+its ebb and flow in different ages and countries. Yet when he cast his
+eye on America, where perhaps the greatest progress had been made in the
+world's history within fifty years, he saw nothing but melancholy signs
+of anarchy and decay,--signs portending the collapse of liberty and the
+triumph of ignorance and crime. Thus he writes in 1857 to an American
+correspondent:--</p>
+
+<p>&quot;As long as you have a boundless extent of fertile and unoccupied land,
+your laboring population will be far more at ease than the laboring
+population of the Old World; but the time will come when wages will be
+as low, and will fluctuate as much, with you as with us. Then your
+institutions will fairly be brought to the test. Distress everywhere
+makes the laborer mutinous and discontented, and inclines him to listen
+with eagerness to agitators who tell him that it is a monstrous
+iniquity that one man should have a million, while another cannot get a
+full meal. In bad years there is plenty of grumbling here, and sometimes
+a little rioting; but it matters little, for here the sufferers are not
+the rulers. The supreme power is in the hands of a class deeply
+interested in the security of property and the maintenance of order;
+accordingly the malcontents are restrained. But with you the majority is
+the government, and has the rich, who are always in a minority,
+absolutely at its mercy. The day will come when the multitude of people,
+none of whom has had more than a half a breakfast, or expects to have
+more than a half a dinner, will choose a legislature. Is it possible to
+doubt what sort of legislature will be chosen? On the one side is a
+statesman preaching patience, respect for vested rights, strict
+observance of the public faith; and on the other a demagogue ranting
+about the tyranny of capitalists and usurers, and asking why anybody
+should be permitted to drink champagne and ride in a carriage, while
+thousands of honest folks are in want of necessaries: which of the two
+candidates is likely to be preferred by a working-man who hears his
+children cry for more bread? There will be, I fear, spoliation. The
+spoliation will increase the distress; the distress will produce fresh
+spoliation. There is nothing to stop you; your Constitution is all sail
+and no anchor. Either civilization or liberty will perish. Either some
+Caesar or Napoleon will seize the reins of government with a strong
+hand, or your republic will be as fearfully plundered and laid waste by
+barbarians in the twentieth century as the Roman Empire was in
+the fifth.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>I do not deny that there is great force in Macaulay's reasoning and
+prophecy. History points to decline and ruin when public virtue has fled
+and government is in the hands of demagogues; for their reign has ever
+been succeeded by military usurpers who have preserved civilization
+indeed, but at the expense of liberty. Yet this reasoning applies not
+only to America but to England as well,--especially since, by the Reform
+Bill and subsequent enactments of Parliament, she has opened the gates
+to an increase of suffrage, which now threatens to become universal. The
+enfranchisement of the people--the enlarged powers of the individual
+under the protection and control of the commonwealth--is the Anglo-Saxon
+contribution to progress. It is dangerous. So is all power until its use
+is learned. But there is no backward step possible; the tremendous
+experiment must go forward, for England and America alike.</p>
+
+<p>Macaulay himself was one of the most prominent of English statesmen and
+orators, in 1830, 1831, and 1832, to advocate the extension of the right
+of suffrage and the increase of popular liberties. All his writings are
+on the side of liberty in England; and all are in opposition to the
+Toryism which was so triumphant during the reign of George III. Why did
+he have faith in the English people of England, and yet show so little
+in the English people of America? He believed in political and social
+progress for his own countrymen; why should he doubt the utility of the
+same in other countries? If vandalism is to be the fate of America,
+where education, the only truly conservative element, is more diffused
+than in England, why should it not equally triumph in that country when
+the masses have gained political power, as they surely will at some
+time, and even speedily, if the policy inaugurated by Gladstone is to
+triumph? For England Macaulay had unbounded hope, because he believed in
+progress,--in liberty, in education, in the civilizing influence of
+machinery, in the increasing comforts of life through the constant
+increase of wealth among the middle classes, and especially through the
+power of Christianity, in spite of the dissensions of sects, the attacks
+of crude philosophers, socialists, anarchists, scientists, and atheists,
+from one end of Christendom to the other. Why should he not have equal
+faith in American civilization, which, in spite of wars and strikes and
+commercial distresses and political corruption, has yet made a marked
+progress from the time of Jefferson, the apostle of equality, down to
+our day,--as seen especially in the multiplication of schools and
+colleges, in an untrammelled and watchful press, and in the active
+benevolence of the rich in the foundation of every kind of institution
+to relieve misery and want? The truth is that he, in common with most
+educated Englishmen of his day,--and of too many even of our own
+day,--cherished a silent contempt for Americans, for their literature
+and their institutions; and hence he was not only inconsistent in the
+principles which he advocated, but showed that he was not emancipated,
+with all his learning, from prejudices of which he ought to have
+been ashamed.</p>
+
+<p>As time made inroads on Macaulay's strong constitution, he gave up both
+politics and society in the absorbing interest which he took in his
+History, confining himself to his library, and sometimes allowing months
+to pass without accepting any invitation whatever to a social gathering.
+No man was ever more disenchanted with society. He begrudged his time
+even when tempted by the calls of friendship. When visitors penetrated
+to his den, he bowed them out with ironical politeness. He had no favors
+to ask from friends or foes, for he declined political office, and was
+as independent as wealth or fame could make him. In 1849 he was made
+Lord Rector of the University of Glasgow, and the acclamations following
+his address were prodigious. Lord John Russell gave to Macaulay's
+brother John a living worth &pound;1100. Macaulay himself was offered the
+professorship of History at Cambridge. In one year he received for the
+first edition of his third and fourth volumes of the History, published
+in 1855, &pound;20,000 in a single check from Longman. At the age of
+forty-nine, he writes in his diary: &quot;I have no cause for
+complaint,--tolerable health, competence, liberty, leisure, dear
+relatives and friends, and a very great literary reputation.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>With all this prosperity, Macaulay now naturally set up his carriage. He
+dined often with the Queen, and was a great man, according to English
+notions, more even from his wealth and social position than from his
+success in letters. Lord John Russell pressed him to accept a seat in
+his cabinet, but &quot;I told him,&quot; Macaulay writes, &quot;that I should be of no
+use,--that I was not a debater; that it was too late to become one; that
+my temper, taste, and literary habits alike prevented.&quot; He was, however,
+induced to become again a member of Parliament, and in 1852 was elected
+once more for Edinburgh, which had repented of its rejection of him in
+1847. But he insisted on perfect independence to vote as he pleased. He
+regarded this re-entrance into public life as a great personal
+sacrifice, since it might postpone the appearance of his next two
+volumes of the History. His election, however, was received with great
+acclamation. Even Professor Wilson, the most conservative of Scotch
+Tories, voted for him. It was not a party victory, but purely a
+personal triumph.</p>
+
+<p>A serious illness now follows,--a weakness of the heart, from the
+effects of which Macaulay died a few years afterwards. He retires to
+Clifton, and gives himself up to getting well, visiting Barley Wood, and
+driving in his private carriage among the most interesting scenery in
+the west of England. But he was never perfectly well again, although he
+continued to work on his History. His intimate friends saw the change in
+him with sadness, but he himself was serene and uncomplaining. Although
+he suffered from an oppression of the chest, he still on great occasions
+addressed the House. His mind was clear, but his voice was faint. The
+last speech he made was in behalf of the independence of the Scottish
+Church. The strain of the House of Commons proved to be too great for
+his now enfeebled constitution. &quot;Nor could he conceal from himself and
+his friends,&quot; says Trevelyan, &quot;that it was a grievous waste, while the
+reign of Anne still remained unwritten, for him to consume his scanty
+stock of vigor in the tedious and exhaustive routine of political
+existence; waiting whole evenings for the vote, and then ... trudging
+home at three in the morning through the slush of a February thaw.&quot; He
+therefore spared himself as a member of Parliament, and carefully
+husbanded his powers in order to work upon his book. He gave himself
+more time for his annual vacation, yet would write when he could on the
+subjects which engrossed his life. His labors were too severe for his
+strength, but he worked on, and even harder and harder.</p>
+
+<p>At length on the 25th of November, 1855, Macaulay sent to the printer
+the last twenty pages of his History, and an edition of twenty-five
+thousand was ordered. Within a generation one hundred and forty thousand
+copies of the work were sold in the United Kingdom alone. Six rival
+translators were engaged in turning it into German; and it was published
+in the Polish, the Danish, the Swedish, the Italian, the French, the
+Dutch, the Spanish, the Hungarian, the Russian, and the Bohemian
+languages, to say nothing of its immense circulation in the United
+States. Such extraordinary literary popularity was accompanied by great
+honors. In 1857 Macaulay was created a British Peer and elected Lord
+High Steward of the borough of Cambridge. The academies of Utrecht,
+Munich, and Turin elected him to honorary membership. The King of
+Prussia made him a member of the Order of Merit. Oxford conferred on him
+the degree of Doctor of Civil Law, and he was elected president of the
+Philosophical Institution of Edinburgh. He could have little more in the
+way of academic and governmental honors.</p>
+
+<p>The failing health of Macaulay now compelled him to resign his seat in
+the House of Commons. It was also thought desirable for him to vacate
+his apartments at The Albany, which he had occupied for fifteen years,
+that he might be more retired and perhaps more comfortable. His
+friends, at the suggestion of Dean Milman, selected a house in
+Kensington, the rooms of which were small, except the library, which
+opened upon a beautiful lawn, adorned with flowers and shrubs; it was
+called Holly Lodge, and was very secluded and attractive. Here his
+latter days were spent, in the society of his nieces and a few devoted
+friends, and in dispensing simple hospitalities. His favorite form of
+entertainment was the breakfast, at which his guests would linger till
+twelve, enchanted by his conversation, for his mind showed no signs
+of decay.</p>
+
+<p>From this charming retreat Lord Macaulay very seldom appeared in London
+society. Years passed without his even accepting invitations. An
+occasional night at a friend's house in the country, one or two nights
+at Windsor Castle, and one or two visits to Lord Stanhope's seat in Kent
+in order to consult his magnificent library, were the only visits which
+Macaulay made in the course of the year. He always had a dislike of
+visiting in private houses, much preferring hotels, where he could be
+free from conventional life.</p>
+
+<p>Macaulay was always careful in his expenditures, wasting nothing that he
+might enjoy the pleasure of charity,--for he gave liberally, especially
+to needy and unfortunate men of letters. Once he gave &pound;100 to a total
+stranger who implored his aid. In his household he was revered, for he
+was the kindest and most considerate of masters, while his relatives
+absolutely worshipped him. At home he made no claim to the privileges of
+genius; he had few eccentricities; he never interfered with the
+pleasures of others; he never obtruded his advice, or demanded that his
+own views or tastes should be consulted; he was especially careful not
+to wound the feelings of those with whom he lived. Children were his
+delight and solace. Over them he seemed to have unbounded influence. He
+would spend the half of a busy day in playing with them, and in
+inventing new games for their diversion. One of his pleasures was to
+take them to see the sights of London. His sympathies were quick and
+generous; although apparently so cynical in his opinions of books, he
+was always affected at any touches of pathos, even to tears.</p>
+
+<p>It was hard for Macaulay to realize that the time had come when he must
+leave untold that portion of English history with which he was more
+familiar than any other living man; but he submitted to the inevitable
+without repining. He had done what he could. Even when he was compelled
+to give up his daily task, his love of reading remained; a book was his
+solace to the last. He had no extensive acquaintance with the works of
+some of the best writers of his own generation, preferring the classic
+authors of antiquity, and of England in the time of Anne. He did not
+relish Coleridge or Carlyle or Buckle or Ruskin, or indeed any writer
+who seemed to strain after originality of style, in defiance of the old
+and conservative canons. He preferred Miss Austen to Dickens. He felt
+that he owed a great debt to the master-minds of by-gone ages, who
+reached perfection of style, so far as it can be attained. Even the
+English writers of the reign of Anne, to his mind, have never been
+surpassed. His admiration for Addison was unbounded. Dryden and Pope to
+him were greater poets than any who have succeeded them. Such a poet as
+Tennyson or Wordsworth he pretended he did not understand. He wanted
+transparent clearness of expression. Browning would have been to him an
+abomination. He despised the poetry of his own age, with its involved
+sentences, its obscurity, and its strange metres. His own poetry was as
+direct as Homer, as simple as Chaucer, and as graphic as Scott.</p>
+
+<p>In 1859, Macaulay contrived to visit once more the English lakes and the
+western highlands, where he was received with great veneration, being
+recognized everywhere on steamers and railway stations. But his
+cheerfulness had now departed, although he made an effort to be
+agreeable. In December of this year he ceased writing in his diary. The
+physicians pretended to think that he was better, but fainting fits set
+in. On Christmas he said but little, and was constantly dropping to
+sleep. His relatives did not seem to think that he was in immediate
+danger, but the end was near. He died without pain, and was buried in
+Westminster Abbey on the 9th of January, 1860, having for pall-bearers
+the most illustrious men in England. He rests in the Poet's Corner, amid
+the tombs of Johnson and Garrick, Handel and Goldsmith, Gay and Addison,
+leaving behind him an immortal fame.</p>
+
+<p>And what is this fame? It is not that of a philosophical historian like
+Guizot, for his History is not marked by profound generalizations, or
+even thoughtful reflections. He was not a judicial historian like
+Hallam, seeking to present the truth alone; for he was a partisan, full
+of party prejudices. Nor was he an historian like Ranke, raking out the
+hidden facts of a remote period, and unveiling the astute diplomacy of
+past ages. Macaulay was a great historical painter of the realistic
+school, whose pictures have never been surpassed, or even equalled, for
+vividness and interest. In this class of historians he stands out alone
+and peerless, the most exciting and the most interesting of all the
+historians who have depicted the manners, the events, and the characters
+of a former age,--never by any accident dull, but fatiguing, if at all,
+only by his wealth of illustration and the over-brilliancy of his
+coloring. He is the Titian of word-painting, and as such will live like
+that immortal colorist. Critics may say what they please about his
+rhetoric, about his partial statements, about his want of insight into
+deep philosophical questions; but as a painter who made his figures
+stand out on the historical canvas with unique vividness, Macaulay
+cannot fail to be regarded, as long as the English language is spoken or
+written, as one of the great masters of literary composition. This was
+the verdict pronounced by the English nation at large; and its great
+political and literary leaders expressed and confirmed it, when they
+gave him fortune and fame, elevated him to the peerage, bestowed on him
+stars and titles, and buried him with august solemnity among those
+illustrious men who gave to England its power and glory.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><hr style="width: 35%;"><br><br>
+<h2><a name="SHAKSPEARE;_OR,_THE_POET."></a>SHAKSPEARE; OR, THE POET.
+<a name="FNanchor3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3"><sup>[3]</sup></a></h2>
+
+<hr style="width: 25%;">
+
+<p>1564-1616.</p>
+
+<p>BY RALPH WALDO EMERSON.</p>
+
+<p>Great men are more distinguished by range and extent than by
+originality. If we require the originality which consists in weaving,
+like a spider, their web from their own bowels; in finding clay and
+making bricks and building the house; no great men are original. Nor
+does valuable originality consist in unlikeness to other men. The hero
+is in the press of knights and the thick of events; and seeing what men
+want and sharing their desire, he adds the needful length of sight and
+of arm to come at the desired point. The greatest genius is the most
+indebted man. A poet is no rattle-brain, saying what comes uppermost,
+and, because he says everything, saying at last something good; but a
+heart in unison with his time and country. There is nothing whimsical
+and fantastic in his production, but sweet and sad earnest, freighted
+with the weightiest convictions and pointed with the most determined
+aim which any man or class knows of in his times.</p>
+
+<a name="Footnote_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor3">[3]</a> Reprinted from &quot;Representative Men,&quot; by permission of
+Messrs. HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN, AND CO., publishers of Emerson's works.
+
+<p>The Genius of our life is jealous of individuals, and will not have any
+individual great, except through the general. There is no choice to
+genius. A great man does not wake up on some fine morning and say, 'I am
+full of life, I will go to sea and find an Antarctic continent: to-day I
+will square the circle: I will ransack botany and find a new food for
+man: I have a new architecture in my mind: I foresee a new mechanic
+power:' no, but he finds himself in the river of the thoughts and
+events, forced onward by the ideas and necessities of his
+contemporaries. He stands where all the eyes of men look one way, and
+their hands all point in the direction in which he should go. The Church
+has reared him amidst rites and pomps, and he carries out the advice
+which her music gave him, and builds a cathedral needed by her chants
+and processions. He finds a war raging: it educates him, by trumpet, in
+barracks, and he betters the instruction. He finds two counties groping
+to bring coal, or flour, or fish, from the place of production to the
+place of consumption, and he hits on a railroad. Every master has found
+his materials collected, and his power lay in his sympathy with his
+people and in his love of the materials he wrought in. What an economy
+of power! and what a compensation for the shortness of life! All is
+done to his hand. The world has brought him thus far on his way. The
+human race has gone out before him, sunk the hills, filled the hollows,
+and bridged the rivers. Men, nations, poets, artisans, women, all have
+worked for him, and he enters into their labors. Choose any other thing,
+out of the line of tendency, out of the national feeling and history,
+and he would have all to do for himself: his powers would be expended in
+the first preparations. Great genial power, one would almost say,
+consists in not being original at all; in being altogether receptive, in
+letting the world do all, and suffering the spirit of the hour to pass
+unobstructed through the mind.</p>
+
+<p>Shakspeare's youth fell in a time when the English people were
+importunate for dramatic entertainments. The court took offence easily
+at political allusions and attempted to suppress them. The Puritans, a
+growing and energetic party, and the religious among the Anglican
+church, would suppress them. But the people wanted them. Inn-yards,
+houses without roofs, and extemporaneous enclosures at country fairs
+were the ready theatres of strolling players. The people had tasted this
+new joy; and, as we could not hope to suppress newspapers now,--no, not
+by the strongest party,--neither then could king, prelate, or puritan,
+alone or united, suppress an organ which was ballad, epic, newspaper,
+caucus, lecture, Punch and library, at the same time. Probably king,
+prelate, and puritan all found their own account in it. It had become,
+by all causes, a national interest,--by no means conspicuous, so that
+some great scholar would have thought of treating it in an English
+history,--but not a whit less considerable because it was cheap and of
+no account, like a baker's-shop. The best proof of its vitality is the
+crowd of writers which suddenly broke into this field: Kyd, Marlow,
+Greene, Jonson, Chapman, Dekker, Webster, Heywood, Middleton, Peele,
+Ford, Massinger, Beaumont and Fletcher.</p>
+
+<p>The secure possession, by the stage, of the public mind, is of the first
+importance to the poet who works for it. He loses no time in idle
+experiments. Here is audience and expectation prepared. In the case of
+Shakspeare there is much more. At the time when he left Stratford and
+went up to London, a great body of stage-plays of all dates and writers
+existed in manuscript and were in turn produced on the boards. Here is
+the Tale of Troy, which the audience will bear hearing some part of,
+every week; the Death of Julius Caesar, and other stories out of
+Plutarch, which they never tire of; a shelf full of English history,
+from the chronicles of Brut and Arthur down to the royal Henries, which
+men hear eagerly; and a string of doleful tragedies, merry Italian
+tales, and Spanish voyages, which all the London 'prentices know. All
+the mass has been treated, with more or less skill, by every playwright,
+and the prompter has the soiled and tattered manuscripts. It is now no
+longer possible to say who wrote them first. They have been the property
+of the Theatre so long, and so many rising geniuses have enlarged or
+altered them, inserting a speech or a whole scene, or adding a song,
+that no man can any longer claim copyright in this work of numbers.
+Happily, no man wishes to. They are not yet desired in that way. We have
+few readers, many spectators and hearers. They had best lie where
+they are.</p>
+
+<p>Shakspeare, in common with his comrades, esteemed the mass of old plays
+waste stock, in which any experiment could be freely tried. Had the
+<i>prestige</i> which hedges about a modern tragedy existed, nothing could
+have been done. The rude warm blood of the living England circulated in
+the play, as in street-ballads, and gave body which he wanted to his
+airy and majestic fancy. The poet needs a ground in popular tradition on
+which he may work, and which, again, may restrain his art within the due
+temperance. It holds him to the people, supplies a foundation for his
+edifice, and in furnishing so much work done to his hand, leaves him at
+leisure and in full strength for the audacities of his imagination. In
+short, the poet owes to his legend what sculpture owed to the temple.
+Sculpture in Egypt and in Greece grew up in subordination to
+architecture. It was the ornament of the temple wall: at first a rude
+relief carved on pediments, then the relief became bolder and a head or
+arm was projected from the wall; the groups being still arranged with
+reference to the building, which serves also as a frame to hold the
+figures; and when at last the greatest freedom of style and treatment
+was reached, the prevailing genius of architecture still enforced a
+certain calmness and continence in the statue. As soon as the statue was
+begun for itself, and with no reference to the temple or palace, the art
+began to decline: freak, extravagance, and exhibition took the place of
+the old temperance. This balance-wheel, which the sculptor found in
+architecture, the perilous irritability of poetic talent found in the
+accumulated dramatic materials to which the people were already wonted,
+and which had a certain excellence which no single genius, however
+extraordinary, could hope to create.</p>
+
+<p>In point of fact it appears that Shakspeare did owe debts in all
+directions, and was able to use whatever he found, and the amount of
+indebtedness may be inferred from Malone's laborious computations in
+regard to the First, Second, and Third parts of Henry VI., in which,
+&quot;out of 6,043 lines, 1,771 were written by some author preceding
+Shakspeare, 2,373 by him, on the foundations laid by his predecessors,
+and 1,899 were entirely his own.&quot; And the proceeding investigation
+hardly leaves a single drama of his absolute invention. Malone's
+sentence is an important piece of external history. In Henry VIII. I
+think I see plainly the cropping out of the original rock on which his
+own finer stratum was laid. The first play was written by a superior,
+thoughtful man, with a vicious ear. I can mark his lines, and know well
+their cadence. See Wolsey's soliloquy, and the following scene with
+Cromwell, where, instead of the metre of Shakspeare, whose secret is
+that the thought constructs the tune, so that reading for the sense will
+best bring out the rhythm,--here the lines are constructed on a given
+tune, and the verse has even a trace of pulpit eloquence. But the play
+contains through all its length unmistakable traits of Shakspeare's
+hand, and some passages, as the account of the coronation, are like
+autographs. What is odd, the compliment to Queen Elizabeth is in the
+bad rhythm.</p>
+
+<p>Shakespeare knew that tradition supplies a better fable than any
+invention can. If he lost any credit of design, he augmented his
+resources; and, at that day, our petulant demand for originality was not
+so much pressed. There was no literature for the million. The universal
+reading, the cheap press, were unknown. A great poet who appears in
+illiterate times, absorbs into his sphere all the light which is
+anywhere radiating. Every intellectual jewel, every flower of sentiment
+it is his fine office to bring to his people; and he comes to value his
+memory equally with his invention. He is therefore little solicitous
+whence his thoughts have been derived; whether through translation,
+whether through tradition, whether by travel in distant countries,
+whether by inspiration; from whatever source, they are equally welcome
+to his uncritical audience. Nay, he borrows very near home. Other men
+say wise things as well as he; only they say a good many foolish things,
+and do not know when they have spoken wisely. He knows the sparkle of
+the true stone, and puts it in high place, wherever he finds it. Such is
+the happy position of Homer perhaps; of Chaucer, of Saadi. They felt
+that all wit was their wit. And they are librarians and
+historiographers, as well as poets. Each romancer was heir and dispenser
+of all the hundred tales of the world,--</p>
+
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&quot;Presenting Thebes' and Pelops' line<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And the tale of Troy divine.&quot;<br>
+
+<p>The influence of Chaucer is conspicuous in all our early literature; and
+more recently not only Pope and Dryden have been beholden to him, but,
+in the whole society of English writers, a large unacknowledged debt is
+easily traced. One is charmed with the opulence which feeds so many
+pensioners. But Chaucer is a huge borrower. Chaucer, it seems, drew
+continually, through Lydgate and Caxton, from Guido di Colonna, whose
+Latin romance of the Trojan war was in turn a compilation from Bares
+Phrygius, Ovid and Statius. Then Petrarch, Boccaccio, and the Proven&ccedil;al
+poets are his benefactors; the Romaunt of the Rose is only judicious
+translation from William of Lorris and John of Meung; Troilus and
+Creseide, from Lollius of Urbino; The Cock and the Fox, from the <i>Lais</i>
+of Marie; The House of Fame, from the French or Italian; and poor Gower
+he uses as if he were only a brick-kiln or stone-quarry out of which to
+build his house. He steals by this apology,--that what he takes has no
+worth where he finds it and the greatest where he leaves it. It has come
+to be practically a sort of rule in literature, that a man having once
+shown himself capable of original writing, is entitled thenceforth to
+steal from the writings of others at discretion. Thought is the property
+of him who can entertain it and of him who can adequately place it. A
+certain awkwardness marks the use of borrowed thoughts; but as soon as
+we have learned what to do with them they become our own.</p>
+
+<p>Thus all originality is relative. Every thinker is retrospective. The
+learned member of the legislature, at Westminster or at Washington,
+speaks and votes for thousands. Show us the constituency, and the now
+invisible channels by which the senator is made aware of their wishes;
+the crowd of practical and knowing men, who, by correspondence or
+conversation, are feeding him with evidence, anecdotes, and estimates,
+and it will bereave his fine attitudes and resistance of something of
+their impressiveness. As Sir Robert Peel and Mr. Webster vote, so Locke
+and Rousseau think, for thousands; and so there were fountains all
+around Homer, Manu, Saadi, or Milton, from which they drew; friends,
+lovers, books, traditions, proverbs,--all perished--which, if seen,
+would go to reduce the wonder. Did the bard speak with authority? Did he
+feel himself overmatched by any companion? The appeal is to the
+consciousness of the writer. Is there at last in his breast a Delphi
+whereof to ask concerning any thought or thing, whether it be verily so,
+yea or nay? and to have answer, and to rely on that? All the debts which
+such a man could contract to other wit would never disturb his
+consciousness of originality; for the ministrations of books and of
+other minds are a whiff of smoke to that most private reality with which
+he has conversed.</p>
+
+<p>It is easy to see that what is best written or done by genius in the
+world, was no man's work, but came by wide social labor, when a thousand
+wrought like one, sharing the same impulse. Our English Bible is a
+wonderful specimen of the strength and music of the English language.
+But it was not made by one man, or at one time; but centuries and
+churches brought it to perfection. There never was a time when there was
+not some translation existing. The Liturgy, admired for its energy and
+pathos, is an anthology of the piety of ages and nations, a translation
+of the prayers and forms of the Catholic church,--these collected, too,
+in long periods, from the prayers and meditations of every saint and
+sacred writer all over the world. Grotius makes the like remark in
+respect to the Lord's Prayer, that the single clauses of which it is
+composed were already in use in the time of Christ, in the Rabbinical
+forms. He picked out the grains of gold. The nervous language of the
+Common Law, the impressive forms of our courts and the precision and
+substantial truth of the legal distinctions, are the contribution of all
+the sharp-sighted, strong-minded men who have lived in the countries
+where these laws govern. The translation of Plutarch gets its excellence
+by being translation on translation. There never was a time when there
+was none. All the truly idiomatic and national phrases are kept, and all
+others successively picked out and thrown away. Something like the same
+process had gone on, long before, with the originals of these books. The
+world takes liberties with world-books. Vedas, Aesop's Fables, Pilpay,
+Arabian Nights, Cid, Iliad, Robin Hood, Scottish Minstrelsy, are not the
+work of single men. In the composition of such works the time thinks,
+the market thinks, the mason, the carpenter, the merchant, the farmer,
+the fop, all think for us. Every book supplies its time with one good
+word; every municipal law, every trade, every folly of the day; and the
+generic catholic genius who is not afraid or ashamed to owe his
+originality to the originality of all, stands with the next age as the
+recorder and embodiment of his own.</p>
+
+<p>We have to thank the researches of antiquaries, and the Shakspeare
+Society, for ascertaining the steps of the English drama, from the
+Mysteries celebrated in churches and by churchmen, and the final
+detachment from the church, and the completion of secular plays, from
+Ferrex and Porrex, and Gammer Gurton's Needle, down to the possession of
+the stage by the very pieces which Shakspeare altered, remodelled, and
+finally made his own. Elated with success and piqued by the growing
+interest of the problem, they have left no bookstall unsearched, no
+chest in a garret unopened, no file of old yellow accounts to decompose
+in damp and worms, so keen was the hope to discover whether the boy
+Shakspeare poached or not, whether he held horses at the theatre door,
+whether he kept school, and why he left in his will only his second-best
+bed to Anne Hathaway, his wife.</p>
+
+<p>There is something touching in the madness with which the passing age
+mischooses the object on which all candles shine and all eyes are
+turned; the care with which it registers every trifle touching Queen
+Elizabeth and King James, and the Essexes, Leicesters, Burleighs, and
+Buckinghams; and lets pass without a single valuable note the founder of
+another dynasty, which alone will cause the Tudor dynasty to be
+remembered,--the man who carries the Saxon race in him by the
+inspiration which feeds him, and on whose thoughts the foremost people
+of the world are now for some ages to be nourished, and minds to receive
+this and not another bias. A popular player;--nobody suspected he was
+the poet of the human race; and the secret was kept as faithfully from
+poets and intellectual men as from courtiers and frivolous people.
+Bacon, who took the inventory of the human understanding for his times,
+never mentioned his name. Ben Jonson, though we have strained his few
+words of regard and panegyric, had no suspicion of the elastic fame
+whose first vibrations he was attempting. He no doubt thought the praise
+he has conceded to him generous, and esteemed himself, out of all
+question, the better poet of the two.</p>
+
+<p>If it need wit to know wit, according to the proverb, Shakspeare's time
+should be capable of recognizing it. Sir Henry Wotton was born four
+years after Shakspeare, and died twenty-three years after him; and I
+find, among his correspondents and acquaintances, the following persons:
+Theodore Beza, Isaac Casaubon, Sir Philip Sidney, the Earl of Essex,
+Lord Bacon, Sir Walter Raleigh, John Milton, Sir Henry Vane, Isaac
+Walton, Dr. Donne, Abraham Cowley, Bellarmine, Charles Cotton, John
+Pym, John Hales, Kepler, Vieta, Albericus Gentilis, Paul Sarpi,
+Arminius; with all of whom exists some token of his having communicated,
+without enumerating many others whom doubtless he saw,--Shakspeare,
+Spenser, Jonson, Beaumont, Massinger, the two Herberts, Marlow, Chapman
+and the rest. Since the constellation of great men who appeared in
+Greece in the time of Pericles, there was never any such society;--yet
+their genius failed them to find out the best head in the universe. Our
+poet's mask was impenetrable. You cannot see the mountain near. It took
+a century to make it suspected; and not until two centuries had passed,
+after his death, did any criticism which we think adequate begin to
+appear. It was not possible to write the history of Shakspeare till now;
+for he is the father of German literature: it was with the introduction
+of Shakspeare into German, by Lessing, and the translation of his works
+by Wieland and Schlegel, that the rapid burst of German literature was
+most intimately connected. It was not until the nineteenth century,
+whose speculative genius is a sort of living Hamlet, that the tragedy of
+Hamlet could find such wondering readers. Now, literature, philosophy,
+and thought, are Shakspearized. His mind is the horizon beyond which, at
+present, we do not see. Our ears are educated to music by his rhythm.
+Coleridge and Goethe are the only critics who have expressed our
+convictions with any adequate fidelity: but there is in all cultivated
+minds a silent appreciation of his superlative power and beauty, which,
+like Christianity, qualifies the period.</p>
+
+<p>The Shakspeare Society have inquired in all directions, advertised the
+missing facts, offered money for any information that will lead to
+proof,--and with what result? Beside some important illustration of the
+history of the English stage, to which I have adverted, they have
+gleaned a few facts touching the property, and dealings in regard to
+property, of the poet. It appears that from year to year he owned a
+larger share in the Blackfriars' Theatre: its wardrobe and other
+appurtenances were his: that he bought an estate in his native village
+with his earnings as writer and shareholder; that he lived in the best
+house in Stratford; was intrusted by his neighbors with their
+commissions in London, as of borrowing money, and the like; that he was
+a veritable farmer. About the time when he was writing Macbeth, he sues
+Philip Rogers, in the Borough-court of Stratford, for thirty-five
+shillings, ten pence, for corn delivered to him at different times; and
+in all respects appears as a good husband, with no reputation for
+eccentricity or excess. He was a good-natured sort of man, an actor and
+shareholder in the theatre, not in any striking manner distinguished
+from other actors and managers. I admit the importance of this
+information. It was well worth the pains that have been taken to
+procure it.</p>
+
+<p>But whatever scraps of information concerning his condition these
+researches may have rescued, they can shed no light upon that infinite
+invention which is the concealed magnet of his attraction for us. We are
+very clumsy writers of history. We tell the chronicle of parentage,
+birth, birthplace, schooling, schoolmates, earning of money, marriage,
+publication of books, celebrity, death; and when we have come to an end
+of this gossip no ray of relation appears between it and the
+goddess-born; and it seems as if, had we dipped at random into the
+&quot;Modern Plutarch,&quot; and read any other life there, it would have fitted
+the poems as well. It is the essence of poetry to spring, like the
+rainbow daughter of Wonder, from the invisible, to abolish the past and
+refuse all history. Malone, Warburton, Dyce, and Collier, have wasted
+their oil. The famed theatres, Covent Garden, Drury Lane, the Park, and
+Tremont have vainly assisted. Betterton, Garrick, Kemble, Kean, and
+Macready dedicate their lives to this genius; him they crown, elucidate,
+obey, and express. The genius knows them not. The recitation begins; one
+golden word leaps out immortal from all this painted pedantry and
+sweetly torments us with invitations to its own inaccessible homes. I
+remember I went once to see the Hamlet of a famed performer, the pride
+of the English stage; and all I then heard and all I now remember of the
+tragedian was that in which the tragedian had no part; simply Hamlet's
+question to the ghost:--</p>
+
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&quot;What may this mean,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;That thou, dead corse, again in complete steel<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Revisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon?&quot;<br>
+
+<p>That imagination which dilates the closet he writes in to the world's
+dimension, crowds it with agents in rank and order, as quickly reduces
+the big reality to be the glimpses of the moon. These tricks of his
+magic spoil for us the illusions of the green-room. Can any biography
+shed light on the localities into which the Midsummer Night's Dream
+admits me? Did Shakspeare confide to any notary or parish recorder,
+sacristan, or surrogate in Stratford, the genesis of that delicate
+creation? The forest of Arden, the nimble air of Scone Castle, the
+moonlight of Portia's villa, &quot;the antres vast and desarts idle&quot; of
+Othello's captivity,--where is the third cousin, or grand-nephew, the
+chancellor's file of accounts, or private letter, that has kept one word
+of those transcendent secrets? In fine, in this drama, as in all great
+works of art,--in the Cyclopaean architecture of Egypt and India, in the
+Phidian sculpture, the Gothic minsters, the Italian painting, the
+Ballads of Spain and Scotland,--the Genius draws up the ladder after
+him, when the creative age goes up to heaven, and gives way to a new
+age, which sees the works and asks in vain for a history.</p>
+
+<p>Shakspeare is the only biographer of Shakspeare; and even he can tell
+nothing, except to the Shakspeare in us,--that is, to our most
+apprehensive and sympathetic hour. He cannot step from off his tripod
+and give us anecdotes of his inspirations. Read the antique documents
+extricated, analysed and compared by the assiduous Dyce and Collier; and
+now read one of these skyey sentences,--aerolites,--which seem to have
+fallen out of heaven, and which not your experience but the man within
+the breast has accepted as words of fate, and tell me if they match--if
+the former account in any manner for the latter; or which gives the most
+historical insight into the man.</p>
+
+<p>Hence, though our external history is so meagre, yet, with Shakspeare
+for biographer, instead of Aubrey and Rowe, we have really the
+information which is material; that which describes character and
+fortune; that which, if we were about to meet the man and deal with him,
+would most import us to know. We have his recorded convictions on those
+questions which knock for answer at every heart,--on life and death, on
+love, on wealth and poverty, on the prizes of life and the ways whereby
+we come at them; on the characters of men, and the influences, occult
+and open, which affect their fortunes; and on those mysterious and
+demoniacal powers which defy our science and which yet interweave their
+malice and their gift in our brightest hours. Who ever read the volume
+of the Sonnets without finding that the poet had there revealed, under
+masks that are no masks to the intelligent, the lore of friendship and
+of love; the confusion of sentiments in the most susceptible, and, at
+the same time, the most intellectual of men? What trait of his private
+mind has he hidden in his dramas? One can discern, in his ample pictures
+of the gentleman and the king, what forms and humanities pleased him;
+his delight in troops of friends, in large hospitality, in cheerful
+giving. Let Timon, let Warwick, let Antonio the merchant answer for his
+great heart. So far from Shakspeare's being the least known, he is the
+one person, in all modern history, known to us. What point of morals, of
+manners, of economy, of philosophy, of religion, of taste, of the
+conduct of life, has he not settled? What mystery has he not signified
+his knowledge of? What office, or function, or district of man's work
+has he not remembered? What king has he not taught state, as Talma
+taught Napoleon? What maiden has not found him finer than her delicacy?
+What lover has he not outloved? What sage has he not outseen? What
+gentleman has he not instructed in the rudeness of his behavior?</p>
+
+<p>Some able and appreciating critics think no criticism on Shakspeare
+valuable that does not rest purely on the dramatic merit; that he is
+falsely judged as poet and philosopher. I think as highly as these
+critics of his dramatic merit, but still think it secondary. He was a
+full man, who liked to talk; a brain exhaling thoughts and images,
+which, seeking vent, found the drama next at hand. Had he been less, we
+should have had to consider how well he filled his place, how good a
+dramatist he was,--and he is the best in the world. But it turns out
+that what he has to say is of that weight as to withdraw some attention
+from the vehicle; and he is like some saint whose history is to be
+rendered into all languages, into verse and prose, into songs and
+pictures, and cut up into proverbs; so that the occasion which gave the
+saint's meaning the form of a conversation, or of a prayer, or of a code
+of laws, is immaterial compared with the universality of its
+application. So it fares with the wise Shakspeare and his book of life.
+He wrote the airs for all our modern music; he wrote the text of modern
+life; the text of manners; he drew the man of England and Europe, the
+father of the man in America; he drew the man, and described the day,
+and what is done in it; he read the hearts of men and women, their
+probity, and their second thought and wiles; the wiles of innocence, and
+the transitions by which virtues and vices slide into their contraries;
+he could divide the mother's part from the father's part in the face of
+the child, or draw the fine demarcations of freedom and of fate; he
+knew the laws of repression which make the police of nature; and all the
+sweets and all the terrors of human lot lay in his mind as truly but as
+softly as the landscape lies on the eye. And the importance of this
+wisdom of life sinks the form, as of Drama or Epic, out of notice. 'T is
+like making a question concerning the paper on which a king's message
+is written.</p>
+
+<p>Shakspeare is as much out of the category of eminent authors, as he is
+out of the crowd. He is inconceivably wise; the others, conceivably. A
+good reader can, in a sort, nestle into Plato's brain and think from
+thence; but not into Shakspeare's. We are still out of doors. For
+executive faculty, for creation, Shakspeare is unique. No man can
+imagine it better. He was the farthest reach of subtlety compatible with
+an individual self,--the subtilest of authors, and only just within the
+possibility of authorship. With this wisdom of life is the equal
+endowment of imaginative and of lyric power. He clothed the creatures of
+his legend with form and sentiments as if they were people who had lived
+under his roof; and few real men have left such distinct characters as
+these fictions. And they spoke in language as sweet as it was fit. Yet
+his talents never seduced him into an ostentation, nor did he harp on
+one string. An omnipresent humanity co-ordinates all his faculties. Give
+a man of talents a story to tell, and his partiality will presently
+appear. He has certain observations, opinions, topics, which have some
+accidental prominence, and which he disposes all to exhibit. He crams
+this part and starves that other part, consulting not the fitness of the
+thing, but his fitness and strength. But Shakspeare has no peculiarity,
+no importunate topic; but all is duly given; no veins, no curiosities;
+no cow-painter, no bird-fancier, no mannerist is he; he has no
+discoverable egotism: the great he tells greatly; the small,
+subordinately. He is wise without emphasis or assertion; he is strong,
+as nature is strong, who lifts the land into mountain slopes without
+effort and by the same rule as she floats a bubble in the air, and likes
+as well to do the one as the other. This makes that equality of power in
+farce, tragedy, narrative, and love-songs; a merit so incessant that
+each reader is incredulous of the perception of other readers.</p>
+
+<p>This power of expression, or of transferring the inmost truth of things
+into music and verse, makes him the type of the poet and has added a new
+problem to metaphysics. This is that which throws him into natural
+history, as a main production of the globe, and as announcing new eras
+and ameliorations. Things were mirrored in his poetry without loss or
+blur: he could paint the fine with precision, the great with compass,
+the tragic and the comic indifferently and without any distortion or
+favor. He carried his powerful execution into minute details, to a hair
+point, finishes an eyelash or a dimple as firmly as he draws a mountain;
+and yet these, like nature's, will bear the scrutiny of the solar
+microscope.</p>
+
+<p>In short, he is the chief example to prove that more or less of
+production, more or fewer pictures, is a thing indifferent. He had the
+power to make one picture. Daguerre learned how to let one flower etch
+its image on his plate of iodine, and then proceeds at leisure to etch a
+million. There are always objects; but there was never representation.
+Here is perfect representation, at last; and now let the world of
+figures sit for their portraits. No recipe can be given for the making
+of a Shakspeare; but the possibility of the translation of things into
+song is demonstrated.</p>
+
+<p>His lyric power lies in the genius of the piece. The sonnets, though
+their excellence is lost in the splendor of the dramas, are as
+inimitable as they; and it is not a merit of lines, but a total merit of
+the piece; like the tone of voice of some incomparable person, so is
+this a speech of poetic beings, and any clause as unproducible now as a
+whole poem.</p>
+
+<p>Though the speeches in the plays, and single lines, have a beauty which
+tempts the ear to pause on them for their euphuism, yet the sentence is
+so loaded with meaning and so linked with its foregoers and followers,
+that the logician is satisfied. His means are as admirable as his ends;
+every subordinate invention, by which he helps himself to connect some
+irreconcilable opposites, is a poem too. He is not reduced to dismount
+and walk because his horses are running off with him in some distant
+direction: he always rides.</p>
+
+<p>The finest poetry was first experience; but the thought has suffered a
+transformation since it was an experience. Cultivated men often attain a
+good degree of skill in writing verses; but it is easy to read, through
+their poems, their personal history: any one acquainted with the parties
+can name every figure; this is Andrew and that is Rachel. The sense thus
+remains prosaic. It is a caterpillar with wings, and not yet a
+butterfly. In the poet's mind the fact has gone quite over into the new
+element of thought, and has lost all that is exuvial. This generosity
+abides with Shakspeare. We say, from the truth and closeness of his
+pictures, that he knows the lesson by heart. Yet there is not a trace
+of egotism.</p>
+
+<p>One more royal trait properly belongs to the poet. I mean his
+cheerfulness, without which no man can be a poet,--for beauty is his
+aim. He loves virtue, not for its obligation but for its grace: he
+delights in the world, in man, in woman, for the lovely light that
+sparkles from them. Beauty, the spirit of joy and hilarity, he sheds
+over the universe. Epicurus relates that poetry hath such charms that a
+lover might forsake his mistress to partake of them. And the true bards
+have been noted for their firm and cheerful temper. Homer lies in
+sunshine; Chaucer is glad and erect; and Saadi says, &quot;It was rumored
+abroad that I was penitent; but what had I to do with repentance?&quot; Not
+less sovereign and cheerful,--much more sovereign and cheerful, is the
+tone of Shakspeare. His name suggests joy and emancipation to the heart
+of men. If he should appear in any company of human souls, who would not
+march in his troop? He touches nothing that does not borrow health and
+longevity from his festal style.</p>
+
+<p>And now, how stands the account of man with this bard and benefactor,
+when, in solitude, shutting our ears to the reverberations of his fame,
+we seek to strike the balance? Solitude has austere lessons; it can
+teach us to spare both heroes and poets; and it weighs Shakspeare also,
+and finds him to share the halfness and imperfection of humanity.</p>
+
+<p>Shakspeare, Homer, Dante, Chaucer, saw the splendor of meaning that
+plays over the visible world; knew that a tree had another use than for
+apples, and corn another than for meal, and the ball of the earth, than
+for tillage and roads: that these things bore a second and finer harvest
+to the mind, being emblems of its thoughts, and conveying in all their
+natural history a certain mute commentary on human life. Shakspeare
+employed them as colors to compose his picture. He rested in their
+beauty; and never took the step which seemed inevitable to such genius,
+namely, to explore the virtue which resides in these symbols and imparts
+this power:--what is that which they themselves say? He converted the
+elements which waited on his command, into entertainments. He was master
+of the revels to mankind. Is it not as if one should have, through
+majestic powers of science, the comets given into his hand, or the
+planets and their moons, and should draw them from their orbits to glare
+with the municipal fireworks on a holiday night, and advertise in all
+towns, &quot;Very superior pyrotechny this evening&quot;? Are the agents of
+nature, and the power to understand them, worth no more than a street
+serenade, or the breath of a cigar? One remembers again the trumpet-text
+in the Koran,--&quot;The heavens and the earth and all that is between them,
+think ye we have created them in jest?&quot; As long as the question is of
+talent and mental power, the world of men has not his equal to show. But
+when the question is, to life and its materials and its auxiliaries, how
+does it profit me? What does it signify? It is but a Twelfth Night, or
+Midsummer Night's Dream, or Winter Evening's Tale: what signifies
+another picture more or less? The Egyptian verdict of the Shakspeare
+Societies comes to mind; that he was a jovial actor and manager. I
+cannot marry this fact to his verse. Other admirable men have led lives
+in some sort of keeping with their thought; but this man, in wide
+contrast. Had he been less, had he reached only the common measure of
+great authors, of Bacon, Milton, Tasso, Cervantes, we might leave the
+fact in the twilight of human fate: but that this man of men, he who
+gave to the science of mind a new and larger subject than had ever
+existed, and planted the standard of humanity some furlongs forward into
+Chaos,--that he should not be wise for himself;--it must even go into
+the world's history that the best poet led an obscure and profane life,
+using his genius for the public amusement.</p>
+
+<p>Well, other men, priest and prophet, Israelite, German and Swede, beheld
+the same objects: they also saw through them that which was contained.
+And to what purpose? The beauty straightway vanished; they read
+commandments, all-excluding mountainous duty; an obligation, a sadness,
+as of piled mountains, fell on them, and life became ghastly, joyless, a
+pilgrim's progress, a probation, beleaguered round with doleful
+histories of Adam's fall and curse behind us; with doomsdays and
+purgatorial and penal fires before us; and the heart of the seer and the
+heart of the listener sank in them.</p>
+
+<p>It must be conceded that these are half-views of half-men. The world
+still wants its poet-priest, a reconciler, who shall not trifle, with
+Shakspeare the player, nor shall grope in graves, with Swedenborg the
+mourner; but who shall see, speak, and act, with equal inspiration. For
+knowledge will brighten the sunshine; right is more beautiful than
+private affection; and love is compatible with universal wisdom.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><hr style="width: 35%;"><br><br>
+<h2><a name="JOHN_MILTON:_POET_AND_PATRIOT."></a>JOHN MILTON: POET AND PATRIOT.
+<a name="FNanchor4"></a><a href="#Footnote_4"><sup>[4]</sup></a></h2>
+
+<hr style="width: 25%;">
+
+<p>1608-1674.</p>
+
+<p>BY THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY.</p>
+
+<p>Toward the close of the year 1823, Mr. Lemon, deputy keeper of the
+state-papers, in the course of his researches among the presses of his
+office, met with a large Latin manuscript. With it were found corrected
+copies of the foreign despatches written by Milton while he filled the
+office of secretary, and several papers relating to the Popish Trials
+and the Rye-house Plot. The whole was wrapped up in an envelope,
+subscribed <i>To Mr. Skinner, Merchant</i>. On examination, the large
+manuscript proved to be the long lost essay on the doctrines of
+Christianity, which, according to Wood and Toland, Milton finished after
+the Restoration, and deposited with Cyriac Skinner. Skinner, it is well
+known, held the same political opinions with his illustrious friend. It
+is therefore probable, as Mr. Lemon conjectures, that he may have fallen
+under the suspicions of the Government during that persecution of the
+Whigs which followed the dissolution of the Oxford Parliament, and that,
+in consequence of a general seizure of his papers, this work may have
+been brought to the office in which it has been found. But whatever the
+adventures of the manuscript may have been, no doubt can exist that it
+is a genuine relic of the great poet....</p>
+
+<a name="Footnote_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor4">[4]</a> <i>Joannis Miltoni, Angli, de Doctrin&acirc; Christian&acirc; libri duo
+posthumi</i>. A Treatise on Christian Doctrine, compiled from the Holy
+Scriptures alone. By JOHN MILTON, translated from the Original by
+Charles R. Sumner, M.A., etc., etc.: 1825. From the <i>Edinburgh Review</i>,
+August, 1825; slightly abridged.
+
+<p>The book itself will not add much to the fame of Milton.... Were it far
+more orthodox or far more heretical than it is, it would not much edify
+or corrupt the present generation. The men of our time are not to be
+converted or perverted by quartos. A few more days, and this essay will
+follow the <i>Defensio Populi</i> to the dust and silence of the upper shelf.
+The name of its author, and the remarkable circumstances attending its
+publication, will secure to it a certain degree of attention. For a
+month or two it will occupy a few minutes of chat in every drawing-room,
+and a few columns in every magazine; and it will then, to borrow the
+elegant language of the play-bills, be withdrawn, to make room for the
+forthcoming novelties.</p>
+
+<p>We wish, however, to avail ourselves of the interest, transient as it
+may be, which this work has excited. The dexterous Capuchins never
+choose to preach on the life and miracles of a saint till they have
+awakened the devotional feelings of their auditors by exhibiting some
+relic of him--a thread of his garment, a lock of his hair, or a drop of
+his blood. On the same principle, we intend to take advantage of the
+late interesting discovery, and, while this memorial of a great and good
+man is still in the hands of all, to say something of his moral and
+intellectual qualities. Nor, we are convinced, will the severest of our
+readers blame us if, on an occasion like the present, we turn for a
+short time from the topics of the day to commemorate, in all love and
+reverence, the genius and virtues of John Milton, the poet, the
+statesman, the philosopher, the glory of English literature, the
+champion and the martyr of English liberty.</p>
+
+<p>It is by his poetry that Milton is best known; and it is of his poetry
+that we wish first to speak. By the general suffrage of the civilized
+world, his place has been assigned among the greatest masters of the
+art. His detractors, however, though outvoted, have not been silenced.
+There are many critics, and some of great name, who contrive in the same
+breath to extol the poems and to decry the poet. The works, they
+acknowledge, considered in themselves, may be classed among the noblest
+productions of the human mind. But they will not allow the author to
+rank with those great men who, born in the infancy of civilization,
+supplied, by their own powers, the want of instruction, and, though
+destitute of models themselves, bequeathed to posterity models which
+defy imitation. Milton, it is said, inherited what his predecessors
+created; he lived in an enlightened age; he received a finished
+education; and we must therefore, if we would form a just estimate of
+his powers, make large deductions in consideration of these advantages.</p>
+
+<p>We venture to say, on the contrary, paradoxical as the remark may
+appear, that no poet has ever had to struggle with more unfavorable
+circumstances than Milton. He doubted, as he has himself owned, whether
+he had not been born &quot;an age too late.&quot; For this notion Johnson has
+thought fit to make him the butt of much clumsy ridicule. The poet, we
+believe, understood the nature of his art better than the critic. He
+knew that his poetical genius derived no advantage from the civilization
+which surrounded him, or from the learning which he had acquired; and he
+looked back with something like regret to the ruder age of simple words
+and vivid impressions.</p>
+
+<p>We think that, as civilization advances, poetry almost necessarily
+declines. Therefore, though we fervently admire those great works of
+imagination which have appeared in dark ages, we do not admire them the
+more because they have appeared in dark ages. On the contrary, we hold
+that the most wonderful and splendid proof of genius is a great poem
+produced in a civilized age. We cannot understand why those who believe
+in that most orthodox article of literary faith, that the earliest
+poets are generally the best, should wonder at the rule as if it were
+the exception. Surely the uniformity of the phenomenon indicates a
+corresponding uniformity in the cause.</p>
+
+<p>The fact is, that common observers reason from the progress of the
+experimental sciences to that of the imitative arts. The improvement of
+the former is gradual and slow. Ages are spent in collecting materials,
+ages more in separating and combining them. Even when a system has been
+formed, there is still something to add, to alter, or to reject. Every
+generation enjoys the use of a vast hoard bequeathed to it by antiquity,
+and transmits that hoard, augmented by fresh acquisitions, to future
+ages. In these pursuits, therefore, the first speculators lie under
+great disadvantages, and, even when they fail, are entitled to praise.
+Their pupils, with far inferior intellectual powers, speedily surpass
+them in actual attainments. Every girl who has read Mrs. Marcet's little
+dialogues on political economy could teach Montague or Walpole many
+lessons in finance. Any intelligent man may now, by resolutely applying
+himself for a few years to mathematics, learn more than the great Newton
+knew after half a century of study and meditation.</p>
+
+<p>But it is not thus with music, with painting, or with sculpture. Still
+less is it thus with poetry. The progress of refinement rarely supplies
+these arts with better objects of imitation. It may indeed improve the
+instruments which are necessary to the mechanical operations of the
+musician, the sculptor, and the painter. But language, the machine of
+the poet, is best fitted for his purpose in its rudest state. Nations,
+like individuals, first perceive, and then abstract. They advance from
+particular images to general terms. Hence the vocabulary of an
+enlightened society is philosophical, that of a half-civilized people
+is poetical.</p>
+
+<p>This change in the language of men is partly the cause and partly the
+effect of a corresponding change in the nature of their intellectual
+operations, of a change by which science gains and poetry loses.
+Generalization is necessary to the advancement of knowledge; but
+particularity is indispensable to the creations of the imagination. In
+proportion as men know more and think more, they look less at
+individuals and more at classes. They therefore make better theories and
+worse poems. They give us vague phrases instead of images, and
+personified qualities instead of men. They may be better able to analyze
+human nature than their predecessors. But analysis is not the business
+of the poet. His office is to portray, not to dissect. He may believe in
+a moral sense, like Shaftesbury; he may refer all human actions to
+self-interest, like Helvetius; or he may never think about the matter at
+all. His creed on such subjects will no more influence his poetry,
+properly so called, than the notions which a painter may have conceived
+respecting the lachrymal glands, or the circulation of the blood, will
+affect the tears of his Niobe, or the blushes of his Aurora. If
+Shakespeare had written a book on the motives of human actions, it is by
+no means certain that it would have been a good one. It is extremely
+improbable that it would have contained half so much able reasoning on
+the subject as is to be found in the Fable of the Bees. But could
+Mandeville have created an Iago? Well as he knew how to resolve
+characters into their elements, would he have been able to combine those
+elements in such a manner as to make up a man--a real, living,
+individual man?</p>
+
+<p>Perhaps no person can be a poet, or can even enjoy poetry, without a
+certain unsoundness of mind, if anything which gives so much pleasure
+ought to be called unsoundness. By poetry we mean not all writing in
+verse, nor even all good writing in verse. Our definition excludes many
+metrical compositions which, on other grounds, deserve the highest
+praise. By poetry we mean the art of employing words in such a manner as
+to produce an illusion on the imagination, the art of doing by means of
+words what the painter does by means of colors. Thus the greatest of
+poets has described it, in lines universally admired for the vigor and
+felicity of their diction, and still more valuable on account of the
+just notion which they convey of the art in which he excelled:--</p>
+
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&quot;As imagination bodies forth<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;A local habitation and a name.&quot;<br>
+
+<p>These are the fruits of the &quot;fine frenzy&quot; which he ascribes to the
+poet--a fine frenzy, doubtless, but still a frenzy. Truth, indeed, is
+essential to poetry; but it is the truth of madness. The reasonings are
+just; but the premises are false. After the first suppositions have been
+made, everything ought to be consistent; but those first suppositions
+require a degree of credulity which almost amounts to a partial and
+temporary derangement of the intellect. Hence of all people children are
+the most imaginative. They abandon themselves without reserve to every
+illusion. Every image which is strongly presented to their mental eye
+produces on them the effect of reality. No man, whatever his sensibility
+may be, is ever affected by Hamlet or Lear as a little girl is affected
+by the story of poor Red Riding-hood. She knows that it is all false,
+that wolves cannot speak, that there are no wolves in England. Yet, in
+spite of her knowledge, she believes; she weeps; she trembles; she dares
+not go into a dark room lest she should feel the teeth of the monster
+at her throat. Such is the despotism of the imagination over
+uncultivated minds.</p>
+
+<p>In a rude state of society, men are children with a greater variety of
+ideas. It is therefore in such a state of society that we may expect to
+find the poetical temperament in its highest perfection. In an
+enlightened age there will be much intelligence, much science, much
+philosophy, abundance of just classification and subtle analysis,
+abundance of wit and eloquence, abundance of verses, and even of good
+ones; but little poetry. Men will judge and compare; but they will not
+create. They will talk about the old poets, and comment on them, and to
+a certain degree enjoy them. But they will scarcely be able to conceive
+the effect which poetry produced on their ruder ancestors, the agony,
+the ecstasy, the plenitude of belief. The Greek rhapsodists, according
+to Plato, could scarce recite Homer without falling into convulsions.
+The Mohawk hardly feels the scalping-knife while he shouts his
+death-song. The power which the ancient bards of Wales and Germany
+exercised over their auditors seems to modern readers almost miraculous.
+Such feelings are very rare in a civilized community, and most rare
+among those who participate most in its improvements. They linger
+longest among the peasantry.</p>
+
+<p>Poetry produces an illusion on the eye of the mind, as a magic lantern
+produces an illusion on the eye of the body. And, as the magic lantern
+acts best in a dark room, poetry effects its purpose most completely in
+a dark age. As the light of knowledge breaks in upon its exhibitions, as
+the outlines of certainty become more and more definite, and the shades
+of probability more and more distinct, the hues and lineaments of the
+phantoms which the poet calls up grow fainter and fainter. We cannot
+unite the incompatible advantages of reality and deception, the clear
+discernment of truth and the exquisite enjoyment of fiction.</p>
+
+<p>He who, in an enlightened and literary society, aspires to be a great
+poet, must first become a little child. He must take to pieces the whole
+web of his mind. He must unlearn much of that knowledge which has,
+perhaps, constituted hitherto his chief title to superiority. His very
+talents will be a hinderance to him. His difficulties will be
+proportioned to his proficiency in the pursuits which are fashionable
+among his contemporaries; and that proficiency will in general be
+proportioned to the vigor and activity of his mind. And it is well if,
+after all his sacrifices and exertions, his works do not resemble a
+lisping man or a modern ruin. We have seen in our own time great
+talents, intense labor, and long meditation employed in this struggle
+against the spirit of the age, and employed, we will not say absolutely
+in vain, but with dubious success and feeble applause.</p>
+
+<p>If these reasonings be just, no poet has ever triumphed over greater
+difficulties than Milton. He received a learned education: he was a
+profound and elegant classical scholar: he had studied all the mysteries
+of rabbinical literature: he was intimately acquainted with every
+language in modern Europe from which either pleasure or information was
+then to be derived. He was perhaps the only poet of later times who has
+been distinguished by the excellence of his Latin verse. The genius of
+Petrarch was scarcely of the first order; and his poems in the ancient
+language, though much praised by those who have never read them, are
+wretched compositions. Cowley, with all his admirable wit and ingenuity,
+had little imagination: nor, indeed, do we think his classical diction
+comparable to that of Milton. The authority of Johnson is against us on
+this point. But Johnson had studied the bad writers of the Middle Ages
+till he had become utterly insensible to the Augustan elegance, and was
+as ill-qualified to judge between two Latin styles as an habitual
+drunkard to set up for a wine-taster.</p>
+
+<p>Versification in a dead language is an exotic, a far-fetched, costly,
+sickly imitation of that which elsewhere may be found in healthful and
+spontaneous perfection. The soils on which this rarity flourishes are in
+general as ill-suited to the production of vigorous native poetry as the
+flower-pots of a hot-house to the growth of oaks. That the author of
+the Paradise Lost should have written the epistle to Manso was truly
+wonderful. Never before were such marked originality and such exquisite
+mimicry found together. Indeed, in all the Latin poems of Milton the
+artificial manner indispensable to such works is admirably preserved,
+while, at the same time, his genius gives to them a peculiar charm, an
+air of nobleness and freedom, which distinguishes them from all other
+writings of the same class. They remind us of the amusements of those
+angelic warriors who composed the cohort of Gabriel:--</p>
+
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&quot;About him exercised heroic games<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The unarmed youth of heaven. But o'er their heads<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Celestial armory, shield, helm, and spear,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Hung high, with diamond flaming and with gold.&quot;<br>
+
+<p>We cannot look upon the sportive exercises for which the genius of
+Milton ungirds itself without catching a glimpse of the gorgeous and
+terrible panoply which it is accustomed to wear. The strength of his
+imagination triumphed over every obstacle. So intense and ardent was the
+fire of his mind, that it not only was not suffocated beneath the weight
+of fuel, but penetrated the whole superincumbent mass with its own heat
+and radiance.</p>
+
+<p>It is not our intention to attempt anything like a complete examination
+of the poetry of Milton. The public has long been agreed as to the
+merit of the most remarkable passages, the incomparable harmony of the
+numbers, and the excellence of that style which no rival has been able
+to equal and no parodist to degrade; which displays in their highest
+perfection the idiomatic powers of the English tongue, and to which
+every ancient and every modern language has contributed something of
+grace, of energy, or of music. In the vast field of criticism on which
+we are entering, innumerable reapers have already put their sickles. Yet
+the harvest is so abundant that the negligent search of a straggling
+gleaner may be rewarded with a sheaf.</p>
+
+<p>The most striking characteristic of the poetry of Milton is the extreme
+remoteness of the associations by means of which it acts on the reader.
+Its effect is produced, not so much by what it expresses, as by what it
+suggests; not so much by the ideas which it directly conveys, as by
+other ideas which are connected with them. He electrifies the mind
+through conductors. The most unimaginative man must understand the
+Iliad. Homer gives him no choice, and requires from him no exertion, but
+takes the whole upon himself, and sets the images in so clear a light
+that it is impossible to be blind to them. The works of Milton cannot be
+comprehended or enjoyed unless the mind of the reader co-operate with
+that of the writer. He does not paint a finished picture, or play for a
+mere passive listener. He sketches, and leaves others to fill up the
+outline. He strikes the key-note, and expects his hearer to make out
+the melody.</p>
+
+<p>We often hear of the magical influence of poetry. The expression in
+general means nothing; but, applied to the writings of Milton, it is
+most appropriate. His poetry acts like an incantation. Its merit lies
+less in its obvious meaning than in its occult power. There would seem,
+at first sight, to be no more in his words than in other words. But they
+are words of enchantment. No sooner are they pronounced, than the past
+is present and the distant near. New forms of beauty start at once into
+existence, and all the burial-places of the memory give up their dead.
+Change the structure of the sentence; substitute one synonyme for
+another, and the whole effect is destroyed. The spell loses its power;
+and he who should then hope to conjure with it would find himself as
+much mistaken as Cassim in the Arabian tale, when he stood crying &quot;Open
+Wheat,&quot; &quot;Open Barley,&quot; to the door that obeyed no sound but &quot;Open
+Sesame.&quot; The miserable failure of Dryden in his attempt to translate
+into his own diction some parts of the Paradise Lost is a remarkable
+instance of this.</p>
+
+<p>In support of these observations, we may remark that scarcely any
+passages in the poems of Milton are more generally known or more
+frequently repeated than those which are little more than muster-rolls
+of names. They are not always more appropriate or more melodious than
+other names. But they are charmed names. Every one of them is the first
+link in a long chain of associated ideas. Like the dwelling-place of our
+infancy revisited in manhood, like the song of our country heard in a
+strange land, they produce upon us an effect wholly independent of their
+intrinsic value. One transports us back to a remote period of history.
+Another places us among the novel scenes and manners of a distant
+region. A third evokes all the dear classical recollections of
+childhood, the school-room, the dog-eared Virgil, the holiday, and the
+prize. A fourth brings before us the splendid phantoms of chivalrous
+romance, the trophied lists, the embroidered housings, the quaint
+devices, the haunted forests, the enchanted gardens, the achievements of
+enamoured knights, and the smiles of rescued princesses.</p>
+
+<p>In none of the works of Milton is his peculiar manner more happily
+displayed than in the Allegro and the Penseroso. It is impossible to
+conceive that the mechanism of language can be brought to a more
+exquisite degree of perfection. These poems differ from others as ottar
+of roses differs from ordinary rose-water, the close-packed essence from
+the thin, diluted mixture. They are, indeed, not so much poems as
+collections of hints, from each of which the reader is to make out a
+poem for himself. Every epithet is a text for a stanza.</p>
+
+<p>The Comus and the Samson Agonistes are works which, though of very
+different merit, offer some marked points of resemblance. Both are lyric
+poems in the form of plays. There are perhaps no two kinds of
+composition so essentially dissimilar as the drama and the ode. The
+business of the dramatist is to keep himself out of sight, and to let
+nothing appear but his characters. As soon as he attracts notice to his
+personal feelings, the illusion is broken. The effect is as unpleasant
+as that which is produced on the stage by the voice of a prompter or the
+entrance of a scene-shifter. Hence it was that the tragedies of Byron
+were his least successful performances. They resemble those pasteboard
+pictures invented by the friend of children, Mr. Newbery, in which a
+single movable head goes round twenty different bodies, so that the same
+face looks out upon us successively, from the uniform of a hussar, the
+furs of a judge, and the rags of a beggar. In all the characters,
+patriots and tyrants, haters and lovers, the frown and sneer of Harold
+were discernible in an instant. But this species of egotism, though
+fatal to the drama, is the inspiration of the ode. It is the part of the
+lyric poet to abandon himself, without reserve, to his own emotions.</p>
+
+<p>Between these hostile elements many great men have endeavored to effect
+an amalgamation, but never with complete success. The Greek drama, on
+the model of which the Samson was written, sprang from the ode. The
+dialogue was ingrafted on the chorus, and naturally partook of its
+character. The genius of the greatest of the Athenian dramatists
+co-operated with the circumstances under which tragedy made its first
+appearance. Aeschylus was, head and heart, a lyric poet. In his time,
+the Greeks had far more intercourse with the East than in the days of
+Homer; and they had not yet acquired that immense superiority in war, in
+science, and in the arts, which, in the following generation, led them
+to treat the Asiatics with contempt. From the narrative of Herodotus it
+should seem that they still looked up, with the veneration of disciples,
+to Egypt and Assyria. At this period, accordingly, it was natural that
+the literature of Greece should be tinctured with the Oriental style.
+And that style, we think, is discernible in the works of Pindar and
+Aeschylus. The latter often reminds us of the Hebrew writers. The Book
+of Job, indeed, in conduct and diction, bears a considerable resemblance
+to some of his dramas. Considered as plays, his works are absurd;
+considered as choruses they are above all praise. If, for instance, we
+examine the address of Clytemnestra to Agamemnon on his return, or the
+description of the seven Argive chiefs, by the principles of dramatic
+writing, we shall instantly condemn them as monstrous. But if we forget
+the characters, and think only of the poetry, we shall admit that it
+has never been surpassed in energy and magnificence. Sophocles made the
+Greek drama as dramatic as was consistent with its original form. His
+portraits of men have a sort of similarity; but it is the similarity,
+not of a painting, but of a bass-relief. It suggests a resemblance; but
+it does not produce an illusion. Euripides attempted to carry the reform
+further. But it was a task far beyond his powers, perhaps beyond any
+powers. Instead of correcting what was bad, he destroyed what was
+excellent. He substituted crutches for stilts, bad sermons for
+good odes.</p>
+
+<p>Milton, it is well known, admired Euripides highly, much more highly
+than, in our opinion, Euripides deserved. Indeed, the caresses which
+this partiality leads our countryman to bestow on &quot;sad Electra's poet&quot;
+sometimes remind us of the beautiful Queen of Fairy-land kissing the
+long ears of Bottom. At all events, there can be no doubt that this
+veneration for the Athenian, whether just or not, was injurious to the
+Samson Agonistes. Had Milton taken Aeschylus for his model, he would
+have given himself up to the lyric inspiration, and poured out profusely
+all the treasures of his mind, without bestowing a thought on those
+dramatic properties which the nature of the work rendered it impossible
+to preserve. In the attempt to reconcile things in their own nature
+inconsistent he has failed, as every one else must have failed. We
+cannot identify ourselves with the characters, as in a good play. We
+cannot identify ourselves with the poet, as in a good ode. The
+conflicting ingredients, like an acid and an alkali mixed, neutralize
+each other. We are by no means insensible to the merits of this
+celebrated piece, to the severe dignity of the style, the graceful and
+pathetic solemnity of the opening speech, or the wild and barbaric
+melody which gives so striking an effect to the choral passages. But we
+think it, we confess, the least successful effort of the genius
+of Milton.</p>
+
+<p>The Comus is framed on the model of the Italian Masque, as the Samson is
+framed on the model of the Greek Tragedy. It is certainly the noblest
+performance of the kind which exists in any language. It is as far
+superior to The Faithful Shepherdess, as The Faithful Shepherdess is to
+the Aminta, or the Aminta to the Pastor Fido. It was well for Milton
+that he had here no Euripides to mislead him. He understood and loved
+the literature of modern Italy. But he did not feel for it the same
+veneration which he entertained for the remains of Athenian and Roman
+poetry, consecrated by so many lofty and endearing recollections. The
+faults, moreover, of his Italian predecessors were of a kind to which
+his mind had a deadly antipathy. He could stoop to a plain style,
+sometimes even to a bald style; but false brilliancy was his utter
+aversion. His muse had no objection to a russet attire; but she turned
+with disgust from the finery of Guarini, as tawdry and as paltry as the
+rags of a chimney-sweeper on May-day. Whatever ornaments she wears are
+of massive gold, not only dazzling to the sight, but capable of standing
+the severest test of the crucible.</p>
+
+<p>Milton attended in the Comus to the distinction which he afterward
+neglected in the Samson. He made his Masque what it ought to be,
+essentially lyrical, and dramatic only in semblance. He has not
+attempted a fruitless struggle against a defect inherent in the nature
+of that species of composition; and he has therefore succeeded, wherever
+success was not impossible. The speeches must be read as majestic
+soliloquies; and he who so reads them will be enraptured with their
+eloquence, their sublimity, and their music. The interruptions of the
+dialogue, however, impose a constraint upon the writer, and break the
+illusion of the reader. The finest passages are those which are lyric in
+form as well as in spirit. &quot;I should much commend,&quot; says the excellent
+Sir Henry Wotton in a letter to Milton, &quot;the tragical part if the
+lyrical did not ravish me with a certain Dorique delicacy in your songs
+and odes, whereunto, I must plainly confess to you, I have seen yet
+nothing parallel in our language.&quot; The criticism was just. It is when
+Milton escapes from the shackles of the dialogue, when he is discharged
+from the labor of uniting two incongruous styles, when he is at liberty
+to indulge his choral raptures without reserve, that he rises even
+above himself. Then, like his own good Genius bursting from the earthly
+form and weeds of Thyrsis, he stands forth in celestial freedom and
+beauty; he seems to cry exultingly,</p>
+
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&quot;Now my task is smoothly done,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; I can fly or I can run,&quot;<br>
+
+<p>to skim the earth, to soar above the clouds, to bathe in the Elysian dew
+of the rainbow, and to inhale the balmy smells of nard and cassia, which
+the musky winds of the zephyr scatter through the cedared alleys of the
+Hesperides.</p>
+
+<p>There are several of the minor poems of Milton on which we would
+willingly make a few remarks. Still more willingly would we enter into a
+detailed examination of that admirable poem, the Paradise Regained,
+which, strangely enough, is scarcely ever mentioned except as an
+instance of the blindness of the parental affection which men of letters
+bear toward the offspring of their intellects. That Milton was mistaken
+in preferring this work, excellent as it is, to the Paradise Lost, we
+readily admit. But we are sure that the superiority of the Paradise Lost
+to the Paradise Regained is not more decided than the superiority of the
+Paradise Regained to every poem which has since made its appearance. Our
+limits, however, prevent us from discussing the point at length. We
+hasten on to that extraordinary production which the general suffrage of
+critics has placed in the highest class of human compositions.</p>
+
+<p>The only poem of modern times which can be compared with the Paradise
+Lost is the Divine Comedy. The subject of Milton, in some points,
+resembled that of Dante; but he has treated it in a widely different
+manner. We cannot, we think, better illustrate our opinion respecting
+our own great poet than by contrasting him with the father of Tuscan
+literature.</p>
+
+<p>The poetry of Milton differs from that of Dante as the hieroglyphics of
+Egypt differed from the picture-writing of Mexico. The images which
+Dante employs speak for themselves; they stand simply for what they are.
+Those of Milton have a signification which is often discernible only to
+the initiated. Their value depends less on what they directly represent
+than on what they remotely suggest. However strange, however grotesque,
+may be the appearance which Dante undertakes to describe, he never
+shrinks from describing it. He gives us the shape, the color, the sound,
+the smell, the taste; he counts the numbers; he measures the size. His
+similes are the illustrations of a traveller. Unlike those of other
+poets, and especially of Milton, they are introduced in a plain,
+business-like manner; not for the sake of any beauty in the objects from
+which they are drawn; not for the sake of any ornament which they may
+impart to the poem; but simply in order to make the meaning of the
+writer as clear to the reader as it is to himself. The ruins of the
+precipice which led from the sixth to the seventh circle of hell were
+like those of the rock which fell into the Adige on the south of Trent.
+The cataract of Phlegethon was like that of Aqua Cheta at the Monastery
+of St. Benedict. The place where the heretics were confined in burning
+tombs resembled the vast cemetery of Arles.</p>
+
+<p>Now let us compare with the exact details of Dante the dim intimations
+of Milton. We will cite a few examples. The English poet has never
+thought of taking the measure of Satan. He gives us merely a vague idea
+of vast bulk. In one passage the fiend lies stretched out huge in
+length, floating many a rood, equal in size to the earth-born enemies of
+Jove, or to the sea-monster which the mariner mistakes for an island.
+When he addresses himself to battle against the guardian angels he
+stands like Teneriffe or Atlas: his stature reaches the sky. Contrast
+with these descriptions the lines in which Dante has described the
+gigantic spectre of Nimrod. &quot;His face seemed to me as long and as broad
+as the ball of St. Peter's at Rome; and his other limbs were in
+proportion; so that the bank, which concealed him from the waist
+downwards, nevertheless showed so much of him that three tall Germans
+would in vain have attempted to reach to his hair.&quot; We are sensible
+that we do no justice to the admirable style of the Florentine poet. But
+Mr. Cary's translation is not at hand; and our version, however rude, is
+sufficient to illustrate our meaning.</p>
+
+<p>Once more, compare the lazar-house in the eleventh book of the Paradise
+Lost with the last ward of Malebolge in Dante. Milton avoids the
+loathsome details, and takes refuge in indistinct but solemn and
+tremendous imagery--Despair hurrying from couch to couch to mock the
+wretches with his attendance, Death shaking his dart over them, but, in
+spite of supplications, delaying to strike. What says Dante? &quot;There was
+such a moan there as there would be if all the sick who, between July
+and September, are in the hospitals of Valdichiana, and of the Tuscan
+swamps, and of Sardinia, were in one pit together; and such a stench was
+issuing forth as is wont to issue from decayed limbs.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>We will not take upon ourselves the invidious office of settling
+precedency between two such writers. Each in his own department is
+incomparable; and each, we may remark, has wisely, or fortunately, taken
+a subject adapted to exhibit his peculiar talent to the greatest
+advantage. The Divine Comedy is a personal narrative. Dante is the
+eye-witness and ear-witness of that which he relates. He is the very man
+who has heard the tormented spirits crying out for the second death,
+who has read the dusky characters on the portal within which there is no
+hope, who has hidden his face from the terrors of the Gorgon, who has
+fled from the hooks and the seething pitch of Barbariccia and
+Draghignazzo. His own hands have grasped the shaggy sides of Lucifer.
+His own feet have climbed the mountain of expiation. His own brow has
+been marked by the purifying angel. The reader would throw aside such a
+tale in incredulous disgust, unless it were told with the strongest air
+of veracity, with a sobriety even in its horrors, with the greatest
+precision and multiplicity in its details. The narrative of Milton in
+this respect differs from that of Dante as the adventures of Amadis
+differ from those of Gulliver. The author of Amadis would have made his
+book ridiculous if he had introduced those minute particulars which give
+such a charm to the work of Swift, the nautical observations, the
+affected delicacy about names, the official documents transcribed at
+full length, and all the unmeaning gossip and scandal of the court,
+springing out of nothing, and tending to nothing. We are not shocked at
+being told that a man who lived, nobody knows when, saw many very
+strange sights, and we can easily abandon ourselves to the illusion of
+the romance. But when Lemuel Gulliver, surgeon, resident at Rotherhithe,
+tells us of pigmies and giants, flying islands, and philosophizing
+horses, nothing but such circumstantial touches could produce for a
+single moment a deception on the imagination.</p>
+
+<p>Of all the poets who have introduced into their works the agency of
+supernatural beings, Milton has succeeded best. Here Dante decidedly
+yields to him; and as this is a point on which many rash and
+ill-considered judgments have been pronounced, we feel inclined to dwell
+on it a little longer. The most fatal error which a poet can possibly
+commit in the management of his machinery is that of attempting to
+philosophize too much. Milton has been often censured for ascribing to
+spirits many functions of which spirits must be incapable. But these
+objections, though sanctioned by eminent names, originate, we venture to
+say, in profound ignorance of the art of poetry.</p>
+
+<p>What is spirit? What are our own minds, the portion of spirit with which
+we are best acquainted? We observe certain phenomena. We cannot explain
+them into material causes. We therefore infer that there exists
+something which is not material. But of this something we have no idea.
+We can define it only by negatives. We can reason about it only by
+symbols. We use the word, but we have no image of the thing; and the
+business of poetry is with images, and not with words. The poet uses
+words, indeed; but they are merely the instruments of his art, not its
+objects. They are the materials which he is to dispose in such a manner
+as to present a picture to the mental eye. And if they are not so
+disposed, they are no more entitled to be called poetry than a bale of
+canvas and a box of colors to be called a painting.</p>
+
+<p>Logicians may reason about abstractions. But the great mass of men must
+have images. The strong tendency of the multitude in all ages and
+nations to idolatry can be explained on no other principle. The first
+inhabitants of Greece, there is reason to believe, worshipped one
+invisible Deity. But the necessity of having something more definite to
+adore produced, in a few centuries, the innumerable crowd of gods and
+goddesses. In like manner the ancient Persians thought it impious to
+exhibit the creator under a human form. Yet even these transferred to
+the sun the worship which, in speculation, they considered due only to
+the Supreme Mind. The history of the Jews is the record of a continued
+struggle between pure Theism, supported by the most terrible sanctions,
+and the strangely fascinating desire of having some visible and tangible
+object of adoration. Perhaps none of the secondary causes which Gibbon
+has assigned for the rapidity with which Christianity spread over the
+world, while Judaism scarcely ever acquired a proselyte, operated more
+powerfully than this feeling. God, the uncreated, the incomprehensible,
+the invisible, attracted few worshippers. A philosopher might admire so
+noble a conception; but the crowd turned away in disgust from words
+which presented no image to their minds. It was before Deity embodied in
+a human form, walking among men, partaking of their infirmities, leaning
+on their bosoms, weeping over their graves, slumbering in the manger,
+bleeding on the cross, that the prejudices of the Synagogue, and the
+doubts of the Academy, and the pride of the Portico, and the fasces of
+the Lictor, and the swords of thirty legions, were humbled in the dust.
+Soon after Christianity had achieved its triumph, the principle which
+had assisted it began to corrupt it. It became a new paganism. Patron
+saints assumed the offices of household gods. St. George took the place
+of Mars. St. Elmo consoled the mariner for the loss of Castor and
+Pollux. The Virgin Mother and Cecilia succeeded to Venus and Muses. The
+fascination of sex and loveliness was again joined to that of celestial
+dignity; and the homage of chivalry was blended with that of religion.
+Reformers have often made a stand against these feelings; but never with
+more than apparent and partial success. The men who demolished the
+images in cathedrals have not always been able to demolish those which
+were enshrined in their minds. It would not be difficult to show that in
+politics the same rule holds good. Doctrines, we are afraid, must
+generally be embodied before they can excite a strong public feeling.
+The multitude is more easily interested for the most unmeaning badge, or
+the most insignificant name, than for the most important principle.</p>
+
+<p>From these considerations, we infer that no poet who should affect that
+metaphysical accuracy for the want of which Milton has been blamed would
+escape a disgraceful failure. Still, however, there was another extreme
+which, though far less dangerous, was also to be avoided. The
+imaginations of men are in a great measure under the control of their
+opinions. The most exquisite art of poetical coloring can produce no
+illusion when it is employed to represent that which is at once
+perceived to be incongruous and absurd. Milton wrote in an age of
+philosophers and theologians. It was necessary, therefore, for him to
+abstain from giving such a shock to their understandings as might break
+the charm which it was his object to throw over their imaginations. This
+is the real explanation of the indistinctness and inconsistency with
+which he has often been reproached. Dr. Johnson acknowledges that it was
+absolutely necessary that the spirit should be clothed with material
+forms. &quot;But,&quot; says he, &quot;the poet should have secured the consistency of
+his system by keeping immateriality out of sight, and seducing the
+reader to drop it from his thoughts.&quot; This is easily said; but what if
+Milton could not seduce his readers to drop immateriality from their
+thoughts? What if the contrary opinion had taken so full a possession
+of the minds of men as to leave no room even for the half-belief which
+poetry requires? Such we suspect to have been the case. It was
+impossible for the poet to adopt altogether the material or the
+immaterial system. He therefore took his stand on the debatable ground.
+He left the whole in ambiguity. He has doubtless, by so doing, laid
+himself open to the charge of inconsistency. But, though philosophically
+in the wrong, we cannot but believe that he was poetically in the right.
+This task, which almost any other writer would have found impracticable,
+was easy to him. The peculiar art which he possessed of communicating
+his meaning circuitously through a long succession of associated ideas,
+and of intimating more than he expressed, enabled him to disguise those
+incongruities which he could not avoid.</p>
+
+<p>Poetry which relates to the beings of another world ought to be at once
+mysterious and picturesque. That of Milton is so. That of Dante is
+picturesque, indeed, beyond any that ever was written. Its effect
+approaches to that produced by the pencil or the chisel. But it is
+picturesque to the exclusion of all mystery. This is a fault on the
+right side, a fault inseparable from the plan of Dante's poem, which, as
+we have already observed, rendered the utmost accuracy of description
+necessary. Still it is a fault. The supernatural agents excite an
+interest; but it is not the interest which is proper to supernatural
+agents. We feel that we could talk to the ghosts and demons without any
+emotion of unearthly awe. We could, like Don Juan, ask them to supper,
+and eat heartily in their company. Dante's angels are good men with
+wings. His devils are spiteful, ugly executioners. His dead men are
+merely living men in strange situations. The scene which passes between
+the poet and Farinata is justly celebrated. Still, Farinata in the
+burning tomb is exactly what Farinata would have been at an
+<i>auto-da-f&eacute;</i>. Nothing can be more touching than the first interview of
+Dante and Beatrice. Yet what is it but a lovely woman chiding, with
+sweet, austere composure, the lover for whose affection she is grateful,
+but whose vices she reprobates? The feelings which give the passage its
+charm would suit the streets of Florence as well as the summit of the
+Mount of Purgatory.</p>
+
+<p>The spirits of Milton are unlike those of almost all other writers. His
+fiends, in particular, are wonderful creations. They are not
+metaphysical abstractions. They are not wicked men. They are not ugly
+beasts. They have no horns, no tails, none of the fee-faw-fum of Tasso
+and Klopstock. They have just enough in common with human nature to be
+intelligible to human beings. Their characters are, like their forms,
+marked by a certain dim resemblance to those of men, but exaggerated to
+gigantic dimensions, and veiled in mysterious gloom.</p>
+
+<p>Perhaps the gods and demons of Aeschylus may best bear a comparison with
+the angels and devils of Milton. The style of the Athenian had, as we
+have remarked, something of the Oriental character; and the same
+peculiarity may be traced in his mythology. It has nothing of the
+amenity and elegance which we generally find in the superstitions of
+Greece. All is rugged, barbaric, and colossal. The legends of Aeschylus
+seem to harmonize less with the fragrant groves and graceful porticos in
+which his countrymen paid their vows to the God of Light and Goddess of
+Desire than with those huge and grotesque labyrinths of eternal granite
+in which Egypt enshrined her mystic Osiris, or in which Hindostan still
+bows down to her seven-headed idols. His favorite gods are those of the
+elder generation, the sons of heaven and earth, compared with whom
+Jupiter himself was a stripling and an upstart, the gigantic Titans, and
+the inexorable Furies. Foremost among his creations of this class
+stands Prometheus, half fiend, half redeemer, the friend of man, the
+sullen and implacable enemy of heaven. Prometheus bears undoubtedly a
+considerable resemblance to the Satan of Milton. In both we find the
+same impatience of control, the same ferocity, the same unconquerable
+pride. In both characters also are mingled, though in very different
+proportions, some kind and generous feelings. Prometheus, however, is
+hardly superhuman enough. He talks too much of his chains and his uneasy
+posture; he is rather too much depressed and agitated. His resolution
+seems to depend on the knowledge which he possesses that he holds the
+fate of his torturer in his hands, and that the hour of his release will
+surely come. But Satan is a creature of another sphere. The might of his
+intellectual nature is victorious over the extremity of pain. Amidst
+agonies which cannot be conceived without horror, he deliberates,
+resolves, and even exults. Against the sword of Michael, against the
+thunder of Jehovah, against the flaming lake, and the marl burning with
+solid fire, against the prospect of an eternity of unintermitted misery,
+his spirit bears up unbroken, resting on its own innate energies,
+requiring no support from anything external, nor even from hope itself.</p>
+
+<p>To return for a moment to the parallel which we have been attempting to
+draw between Milton and Dante, we would add that the poetry of these
+great men has in a considerable degree taken its character from their
+moral qualities. They are not egotists. They rarely obtrude their
+idiosyncrasies on their readers. They have nothing in common with those
+modern beggars for fame who extort a pittance from the compassion of the
+inexperienced by exposing the nakedness and sores of their minds. Yet
+it would be difficult to name two writers whose works have been more
+completely, though undesignedly, colored by their personal feelings.</p>
+
+<p>The character of Milton was peculiarly distinguished by loftiness of
+spirit; that of Dante by intensity of feeling. In every line of the
+Divine Comedy we discern the asperity which is produced by pride
+struggling with misery. There is perhaps no work in the world so deeply
+and uniformly sorrowful. The melancholy of Dante was no fantastic
+caprice. It was not, as far as at this distance of time can be judged,
+the effect of external circumstances. It was from within. Neither love
+nor glory, neither the conflicts of earth nor the hope of heaven, could
+dispel it. It turned every consolation and every pleasure into its own
+nature. It resembled that noxious Sardinian soil of which the intense
+bitterness is said to have been perceptible even in its honey. His mind
+was, in the noble language of the Hebrew poet, &quot;a land of darkness, as
+darkness itself, and where the light was as darkness.&quot; The gloom of his
+character discolors all the passions of men, and all the face of nature,
+and tinges with its own livid hue the flowers of Paradise and the
+glories of the eternal throne. All the portraits of him are singularly
+characteristic. No person can look on the features, noble even to
+ruggedness--the dark furrows of the cheek, the haggard and woful stare
+of the eye the sullen and contemptuous curve of the lip--and doubt that
+they belong to a man too proud and too sensitive to be happy.</p>
+
+<p>Milton was, like Dante, a statesman and a lover; and, like Dante, he had
+been unfortunate in ambition and in love. He had survived his health and
+his sight, the comforts of his home, and the prosperity of his party. Of
+the great men by whom he had been distinguished at his entrance into
+life, some had been taken away from the evil to come; some had carried
+into foreign climates their unconquerable hatred of oppression; some
+were pining in dungeons; and some had poured forth their blood on
+scaffolds. Venal and licentious scribblers, with just sufficient talent
+to clothe the thoughts of a pander in the style of a bellman, were now
+the favorite writers of the Sovereign and of the public. It was a
+loathsome herd, which could be compared to nothing so fitly as to the
+rabble of Comus, grotesque monsters, half bestial, half human, dropping
+with wine, bloated with gluttony, and reeling in obscene dances. Amidst
+these that fair Muse was placed, like the chaste lady of the Masque,
+lofty, spotless, and serene, to be chattered at, and pointed at, and
+grinned at, by the whole rout of Satyrs and Goblins. If ever despondency
+and asperity could be excused in any man, they might have been excused
+in Milton. But the strength of his mind overcame every calamity.
+Neither blindness, nor gout, nor age, nor penury, nor domestic
+afflictions, nor political disappointments, nor abuse, nor proscription,
+nor neglect had power to disturb his sedate and majestic patience. His
+spirits do not seem to have been high, but they were singularly equable.
+His temper was serious, perhaps stern; but it was a temper which no
+sufferings could render sullen or fretful. Such as it was when, on the
+eve of great events, he returned from his travels, in the prime of
+health and manly beauty, loaded with literary distinctions, and glowing
+with patriotic hopes, such it continued to be when, after having
+experienced every calamity which is incident to our nature, old, poor,
+sightless, and disgraced, he retired to his hovel to die.</p>
+
+<p>Hence it was that, though he wrote the Paradise Lost at a time of life
+when images of beauty and tenderness are in general beginning to fade,
+even from those minds in which they have not been effaced by anxiety and
+disappointment, he adorned it with all that is most lovely and
+delightful in the physical and in the moral world. Neither Theocritus
+nor Ariosto had a finer or a more healthful sense of the pleasantness of
+external objects, or loved better to luxuriate amidst sunbeams and
+flowers, the songs of nightingales, the juice of summer fruits, and the
+coolness of shady fountains. His conception of love unites all the
+voluptuousness of the Oriental harem, and all the gallantry of the
+chivalric tournament with all the pure and quiet affection of an English
+fireside. His poetry reminds us of the miracles of Alpine scenery. Nooks
+and dells, beautiful as fairyland, are embosomed in its most rugged and
+gigantic elevations. The roses and myrtles bloom unchilled on the verge
+of the avalanche.</p>
+
+<p>Traces, indeed, of the peculiar character of Milton may be found in all
+his works; but it is most strongly displayed in the Sonnets. Those
+remarkable poems have been undervalued by critics who have not
+understood their nature. They have no epigrammatic point. There is none
+of the ingenuity of Filicaja in the thought, none of the hard and
+brilliant enamel of Petrarch in the style. They are simple but majestic
+records of the feelings of the poet; as little tricked out for the
+public eye as his diary would have been. A victory, an expected attack
+upon the city, a momentary fit of depression or exultation, a jest
+thrown out against one of his books, a dream which for a short time
+restored to him that beautiful face over which the grave had closed
+forever, led him to musings, which, without effort, shaped themselves
+into verse. The unity of sentiment and severity of style which
+characterize these little pieces remind us of the Greek Anthology, or
+perhaps still more of the Collects of the English Liturgy. The noble
+poem on the massacres of Piedmont is strictly a collect in verse.</p>
+
+<p>The Sonnets are more or less striking, according as the occasions which
+gave birth to them are more or less interesting. But they are, almost
+without exception, dignified by a sobriety and greatness of mind to
+which we know not where to look for a parallel. It would, indeed, be
+scarcely safe to draw any decided inferences as to the character of a
+writer from passages directly egotistical. But the qualities which we
+have ascribed to Milton, though perhaps most strongly marked in those
+parts of his works which treat of his personal feelings, are
+distinguishable in every page, and impart to all his writings, prose and
+poetry, English, Latin, and Italian, a strong family likeness.</p>
+
+<p>His public conduct was such as was to be expected from a man of spirit
+so high and of an intellect so powerful. He lived at one of the most
+memorable eras in the history of mankind, at the very crisis of the
+great conflict between Oromasdes and Arimanes, liberty and despotism,
+reason and prejudice. That great battle was fought for no single
+generation, for no single land. The destinies of the human race were
+staked on the same cast with the freedom of the English people. Then
+were first proclaimed those mighty principles which have since worked
+their way into the depths of the American forests, which have roused
+Greece from the slavery and degradation of two thousand years, and
+which, from one end of Europe to the other, have kindled an
+unquenchable fire in the hearts of the oppressed, and loosed the knees
+of the oppressors with an unwonted fear.</p>
+
+<p>Of those principles, then struggling for their infant existence, Milton
+was the most devoted and eloquent literary champion. We need not say how
+much we admire his public conduct. But we cannot disguise from ourselves
+that a large portion of his countrymen still think it unjustifiable. The
+civil war, indeed, has been more discussed, and is less understood, than
+any event in English history. The friends of liberty labored under the
+disadvantage of which the lion in the fable complained so bitterly.
+Though they were the conquerors, their enemies were the painters. As a
+body, the Roundheads had done their utmost to decry and ruin
+literature; and literature was even with them, as, in the long run, it
+always is with its enemies. The best book on their side of the question
+is the charming narrative of Mrs. Hutchinson. May's History of the
+Parliament is good; but it breaks off at the most interesting crisis of
+the struggle. The performance of Ludlow is foolish and violent; and most
+of the later writers who have espoused the same cause--Oldmixon, for
+instance, and Catherine Macaulay--have, to say the least, been more
+distinguished by zeal than either by candor or by skill. On the other
+side are the most authoritative and the most popular historical works in
+our language, that of Clarendon, and that of Hume. The former is not
+only ably written and full of valuable information, but has also an air
+of dignity and sincerity which makes even the prejudices and errors with
+which it abounds respectable. Hume, from whose fascinating narrative the
+great mass of the reading public are still contented to take their
+opinions, hated religion so much that he hated liberty for having been
+allied with religion, and has pleaded the cause of tyranny with the
+dexterity of an advocate while affecting the impartiality of a judge.</p>
+
+<p>The public conduct of Milton must be approved or condemned according as
+the resistance of the people to Charles the First shall appear to be
+justifiable or criminal....</p>
+
+<p>Every man who approves of the Revolution of 1688 [which dethroned James
+II., son of Charles I., on the ground that he &quot;had broken the
+fundamental laws of the kingdom,&quot; and enthroned William of Orange in his
+stead], must hold that the breach of fundamental laws on the part of the
+sovereign justifies resistance. The question, then, is this: Had Charles
+the First broken the fundamental laws of England?</p>
+
+<p>No person can answer in the negative, unless he refuses credit, not
+merely to all the accusations brought against Charles by his opponents,
+but to the narratives of the warmest Royalists, and to the confessions
+of the king himself. If there be any truth in any historian of any
+party who has related the events of that reign, the conduct of Charles,
+from his accession to the meeting of the Long Parliament, had been a
+continued course of oppression and treachery. Let those who applaud the
+Revolution and condemn the Rebellion mention one act of James the Second
+to which a parallel is not to be found in the history of his father. Let
+them lay their fingers on a single article in the Declaration of Right,
+presented by the two Houses to William and Mary, which Charles is not
+acknowledged to have violated. He had, according to the testimony of his
+own friends, usurped the functions of the legislature, raised taxes
+without the consent of Parliament, and quartered troops on the people in
+the most illegal and vexatious manner. Not a single session of
+Parliament had passed without some unconstitutional attack on the
+freedom of debate; the right of petition was grossly violated; arbitrary
+judgments, exorbitant fines, and unwarranted imprisonments were
+grievances of daily occurrence. If these things do not justify
+resistance, the Revolution was treason; if they do, the Great Rebellion
+was laudable.</p>
+
+<p>But, it is said, why not adopt milder measures? Why, after the king had
+consented to so many reforms, and renounced so many oppressive
+prerogatives, did the Parliament continue to rise in their demands at
+the risk of provoking a civil war? The ship-money had been given up.
+The Star-chamber had been abolished. Provision had been made for the
+frequent convocation and secure deliberation of parliaments. Why not
+pursue an end confessedly good by peaceable and regular means? We recur
+again to the analogy of the Revolution. Why was James driven from the
+throne? Why was he not retained upon conditions? He too had offered to
+call a free parliament, and to submit to its decision all the matters in
+dispute. Yet we are in the habit of praising our forefathers, who
+preferred a revolution, a disputed succession, a dynasty of strangers,
+twenty years of foreign and intestine war, a standing army, and a
+national debt, to the rule, however restricted, of a tried and proved
+tyrant. The Long Parliament acted on the same principle, and is entitled
+to the same praise. They could not trust the king. He had, no doubt,
+passed salutary laws; but what assurance was there that he would not
+break them? He had renounced oppressive prerogatives; but where was the
+security that he would not resume them? The nation had to deal with a
+man whom no tie could bind, a man who made and broke promises with equal
+facility, a man whose honor had been a hundred times pawned, and
+never redeemed.</p>
+
+<p>Here, indeed, the Long Parliament stands on still stronger ground than
+the Convention of 1688. No action of James can be compared to the
+conduct of Charles with respect to the Petition of Right. The Lords and
+Commons present him with a bill in which the constitutional limits of
+his power are marked out. He hesitates; he evades; at last he bargains
+to give his assent for five subsidies. The bill receives his solemn
+assent; the subsidies are voted; but no sooner is the tyrant relieved
+than he returns at once to all the arbitrary measures which he had bound
+himself to abandon, and violates all the clauses of the very act which
+he had been paid to pass.</p>
+
+<p>For more than ten years the people had seen the rights which were theirs
+by a double claim, by immemorial inheritance and by recent purchase,
+infringed by the perfidious king who had recognized them. At length
+circumstances compelled Charles to summon another Parliament; another
+chance was given to our fathers: were they to throw it away as they had
+thrown away the former? Were they again to be cozened by <i>le Roi le
+veut</i>? Were they again to advance their money on pledges which had been
+forfeited over and over again? Were they to lay a second Petition of
+Right at the foot of the throne, to grant another lavish aid in exchange
+for another unmeaning ceremony, and then to take their departure, till,
+after ten years more of fraud and oppression, their prince should again
+require a supply, and again repay it with a perjury? They were compelled
+to choose whether they would trust a tyrant or conquer him. We think
+that they chose wisely and nobly.</p>
+
+<p>The advocates of Charles, like the advocates of other malefactors
+against whom overwhelming evidence is produced, generally decline all
+controversy about the facts, and content themselves with calling
+testimony to character. He had so many private virtues! And had James
+the Second no private virtues? Was Oliver Cromwell, his bitterest
+enemies themselves being judges, destitute of private virtues? And what,
+after all, are the virtues ascribed to Charles? A religious zeal, not
+more sincere than that of his son, and fully as weak and narrow-minded,
+and a few of the ordinary household decencies which half the tombstones
+in England claim for those who lie beneath them. A good father! A good
+husband! Ample apologies indeed for fifteen years of persecution,
+tyranny, and falsehood!</p>
+
+<p>We charge him with having broken his coronation oath; and we are told
+that he kept his marriage vow! We accuse him of having given up his
+people to the merciless inflictions of the most hot-headed and
+hard-hearted of prelates; and the defence is, that he took his little
+son on his knee and kissed him! We censure him for having violated the
+articles of the Petition of Right, after having, for good and valuable
+consideration, promised to observe them; and we are informed that he
+was accustomed to hear prayers at six o'clock in the morning! It is to
+such considerations as these, together with his Vandyke dress, his
+handsome face, and his peaked beard, that he owes, we verily believe,
+most of his popularity with the present generation.</p>
+
+<p>For ourselves, we own that we do not understand the common phrase, a
+good man, but a bad king. We can as easily conceive a good man and an
+unnatural father, or a good man and a treacherous friend. We cannot, in
+estimating the character of an individual, leave out of our
+consideration his conduct in the most important of all human relations;
+and if in that relation we find him to have been selfish, cruel, and
+deceitful, we shall take the liberty to call him a bad man, in spite of
+all his temperance at table, and all his regularity at chapel.</p>
+
+<p>We cannot refrain from adding a few words respecting a topic on which
+the defenders of Charles are fond of dwelling. If, they say, he governed
+his people ill, he at least governed them after the example of his
+predecessors. If he violated their privileges, it was because their
+privileges had not been accurately defined. No act of oppression has
+ever been imputed to him which has not a parallel in the annals of the
+Tudors. This point Hume has labored, with an art which is as
+discreditable in a historical work as it would be admirable in a
+forensic address. The answer is short, clear, and decisive. Charles had
+assented to the Petition of Right. He had renounced the oppressive
+powers said to have been exercised by his predecessors, and he had
+renounced them for money. He was not entitled to set up his antiquated
+claims against his own recent release.</p>
+
+<p>These arguments are so obvious that it may seem superfluous to dwell
+upon them. But those who have observed how much the events of that time
+are misrepresented and misunderstood will not blame us for stating the
+case simply. It is a case of which the simplest statement is the
+strongest.</p>
+
+<p>The enemies of the Parliament, indeed, rarely choose to take issue on
+the great points of the question. They content themselves with exposing
+some of the crimes and follies to which public commotions necessarily
+give birth. They bewail the unmerited fate of Strafford. They execrate
+the lawless violence of the army. They laugh at the Scriptural names of
+the preachers. Major-generals fleecing their districts; soldiers
+revelling on the spoils of a ruined peasantry; upstarts, enriched by the
+public plunder, taking possession of the hospitable firesides and
+hereditary trees of the old gentry; boys smashing the beautiful windows
+of cathedrals; Quakers riding naked through the market-place;
+Fifth-monarchy-men shouting for King Jesus; agitators lecturing from the
+tops of tubs on the fate of Agag; all these, they tell us, were the
+offspring of the Great Rebellion.</p>
+
+<p>Be it so. We are not careful to answer in this matter. These charges,
+were they infinitely more important, would not alter our opinion of an
+event which alone has made us to differ from the slaves who crouch
+beneath despotic sceptres. Many evils, no doubt, were produced by the
+civil war. They were the price of our liberty. Has the acquisition been
+worth the sacrifice? It is the nature of the devil of tyranny to tear
+and rend the body which he leaves. Are the miseries of continued
+possession less horrible than the struggles of the tremendous exorcism?</p>
+
+<p>If it were possible that a people brought up under an intolerant and
+arbitrary system could subvert that system without acts of cruelty and
+folly, half the objections to despotic power would be removed. We
+should, in that case, be compelled to acknowledge that it at least
+produces no pernicious effects on the intellectual and moral character
+of a nation. We deplore the outrages which accompany revolutions. But
+the more violent the outrages, the more assured we feel that a
+revolution was necessary. The violence of these outrages will always be
+proportioned to the ferocity and ignorance of the people; and the
+ferocity and ignorance of the people will be proportioned to the
+oppression and degradation under which they have been accustomed to
+live. Thus it was in our civil war. The heads of the Church and State
+reaped only that which they had sown. The Government had prohibited free
+discussion; it had done its best to keep the people unacquainted with
+their duties and their rights. The retribution was just and natural. If
+our rulers suffered from popular ignorance, it was because they had
+themselves taken away the key of knowledge. If they were assailed with
+blind fury, it was because they had exacted an equally blind submission.</p>
+
+<p>It is the character of such revolutions that we always see the worst of
+them at first. Till men have been some time free, they know not how to
+use their freedom. The natives of wine countries are generally sober. In
+climates where wine is a rarity intemperance abounds. A newly liberated
+people may be compared to a Northern army encamped on the Rhine or the
+Xeres. It is said that when soldiers in such a situation find themselves
+able to indulge without restraint in such a rare and expensive luxury,
+nothing is to be seen but intoxication. Soon, however, plenty teaches
+discretion; and, after wine has been for a few months their daily fare,
+they become more temperate than they had ever been in their own country.
+In the same manner, the final and permanent fruits of liberty are
+wisdom, moderation, and mercy. Its immediate effects are often atrocious
+crimes, conflicting errors, scepticism on points the most clear,
+dogmatism on points the most mysterious. It is just at this crisis that
+its enemies love to exhibit it. They pull down the scaffolding from the
+half-finished edifice; they point to the flying dust, the falling
+bricks, the comfortless rooms, the frightful irregularity of the whole
+appearance; and then ask in scorn where the promised splendor and
+comfort is to be found. If such miserable sophisms were to prevail,
+there would never be a good house or a good government in the world.</p>
+
+<p>Ariosto tells a pretty story of a fairy, who, by some mysterious law of
+her nature, was condemned to appear at certain seasons in the form of a
+foul and poisonous snake. Those who injured her during the period of her
+disguise were forever excluded from participation in the blessings which
+she bestowed. But to those who, in spite of her loathsome aspect, pitied
+and protected her, she afterwards revealed herself in the beautiful and
+celestial form which was natural to her, accompanied their steps,
+granted all their wishes, filled their houses with wealth, made them
+happy in love and victorious in war. Such a spirit is Liberty. At times
+she takes the form of a hateful reptile. She grovels, she hisses, she
+stings. But woe to those who in disgust shall venture to crush her! And
+happy are those who, having dared to receive her in her degraded and
+frightful shape, shall at length be rewarded by her in the time of her
+beauty and her glory!</p>
+
+<p>There is only one cure for the evils which newly acquired freedom
+produces; and that cure is freedom. When a prisoner first leaves his
+cell he cannot bear the light of day; he is unable to discriminate
+colors or recognize faces. But the remedy is, not to remand him into his
+dungeon, but to accustom him to the rays of the sun. The blaze of truth
+and liberty may at first dazzle and bewilder nations which have become
+half-blind in the house of bondage. But let them gaze on, and they will
+soon be able to bear it. In a few years men learn to reason. The extreme
+violence of opinions subsides. Hostile theories correct each other. The
+scattered elements of truth cease to contend, and begin to coalesce; and
+at length a system of justice and order is educed out of the chaos.</p>
+
+<p>Many politicians of our time are in the habit of laying it down as a
+self-evident proposition, that no people ought to be free till they are
+fit to use their freedom. The maxim is worthy of the fool in the old
+story, who resolved not to go into the water till he had learned to
+swim. If men are to wait for liberty till they become wise and good in
+slavery, they may indeed wait forever.</p>
+
+<p>Therefore it is that we decidedly approve of the conduct of Milton and
+the other wise and good men who, in spite of much that was ridiculous
+and hateful in the conduct of their associates, stood by the cause of
+public liberty. We are not aware that the poet has been charged with
+personal participation in any of the blamable excesses of that time. The
+favorite topic of his enemies is the line of conduct which he pursued
+with regard to the execution of the King. Of that celebrated proceeding
+we by no means approve. Still, we must say, in justice to the many
+eminent persons who, concurred in it, and in justice, more particularly,
+to the eminent person who defended it, that nothing can be more absurd
+than the imputations which, for the last hundred and sixty years, it has
+been the fashion to cast upon the Regicides....</p>
+
+<p>We disapprove, we repeat, of the execution of Charles; not because the
+constitution exempts the king from responsibility, for we know that all
+such maxims, however excellent, have their exceptions; nor because we
+feel any peculiar interest in his character, for we think that his
+sentence describes him with perfect justice as &quot;a tyrant, a traitor, a
+murderer, and a public enemy;&quot; but because we are convinced that the
+measure was most injurious to the cause of freedom. He whom it removed
+was a captive and a hostage: his heir, to whom the allegiance of every
+Royalist was instantly transferred, was at large. The Presbyterians
+could never have been perfectly reconciled to the father: they had no
+such rooted enmity to the son. The great body of the people, also,
+contemplated that proceeding with feelings which, however unreasonable,
+no government could safely venture to outrage.</p>
+
+<p>But though we think the conduct of the Regicides blamable, that of
+Milton appears to us in a very different light. The deed was done. It
+could not be undone. The evil was incurred; and the object was to render
+it as small as possible. We censure the chiefs of the army for not
+yielding to the popular opinion; but we cannot censure Milton for
+wishing to change that opinion. The very feeling which would have
+restrained us from committing the act would have led us, after it had
+been committed, to defend it against the ravings of servility and
+superstition. For the sake of public liberty, we wish that the thing had
+not been done, while the people disapproved of it. But, for the sake of
+public liberty, we should also have wished the people to approve of it
+when it was done....</p>
+
+<p>We wish to add a few words relative to another subject on which the
+enemies of Milton delight to dwell,--his conduct during the
+administration of the Protector. That an enthusiastic votary of liberty
+should accept office under a military usurper seems, no doubt, at first
+sight, extraordinary. But all the circumstances in which the country was
+then placed were extraordinary. The ambition of Oliver was of no vulgar
+kind. He never seems to have coveted despotic power. He at first fought
+sincerely and manfully for the Parliament, and never deserted it till
+it had deserted its duty. If he dissolved it by force, it was not till
+he found that the few members who remained after so many deaths,
+secessions, and expulsions, were desirous to appropriate to themselves a
+power which they held only in trust, and to inflict upon England the
+curse of a Venetian oligarchy. But even when thus placed by violence at
+the head of affairs, he did not assume unlimited power. He gave the
+country a constitution far more perfect than any which had at that time
+been known in the world. He reformed the representative system in a
+manner which has extorted praise even from Lord Clarendon. For himself
+he demanded indeed the first place in the commonwealth; but with powers
+scarcely so great as those of a Dutch stadtholder, or an American
+president. He gave the Parliament a voice in the appointment of
+ministers, and left to it the whole legislative authority, not even
+reserving to himself a veto on its enactments; and he did not require
+that the chief magistracy should be hereditary in his family. Thus far,
+we think, if the circumstances of the time and the opportunities which
+he had of aggrandizing himself be fairly considered, he will not lose by
+comparison with Washington or Bolivar. Had his moderation been met by
+corresponding moderation, there is no reason to think that he would have
+overstepped the line which he had traced for himself. But when he found
+that his parliaments questioned the authority under which they met, and
+that he was in danger of being deprived of the restricted power which
+was absolutely necessary to his personal safety, then, it must be
+acknowledged, he adopted a more arbitrary policy.</p>
+
+<p>Yet, though we believe that the intentions of Cromwell were at first
+honest, though we believe that he was driven from the noble course which
+he had marked out for himself by the almost irresistible force of
+circumstances, though we admire, in common with all men of all parties,
+the ability and energy of his splendid administration, we are not
+pleading for arbitrary and lawless power, even in his hands. We know
+that a good constitution is infinitely better than the best despot. But
+we suspect that, at the time of which we speak, the violence of
+religious and political enmities rendered a stable and happy settlement
+next to impossible. The choice lay, not between Cromwell and liberty,
+but between Cromwell and the Stuarts. That Milton chose well, no man can
+doubt who fairly compares the events of the protectorate with those of
+the thirty years which succeeded it, the darkest and most disgraceful in
+the English annals. Cromwell was evidently laying, though in an
+irregular manner, the foundations of an admirable system. Never before
+had religious liberty and the freedom of discussion been enjoyed in a
+greater degree. Never had the national honor been better upheld abroad,
+or the seat of justice better filled at home. And it was rarely that any
+opposition which stopped short of open rebellion provoked the resentment
+of the liberal and magnanimous usurper. The institutions which he had
+established, as set down in the Instrument of Government, and the Humble
+Petition and Advice, were excellent. His practice, it is true, too often
+departed from the theory of these institutions. But had he lived a few
+years longer, it is probable that his institutions would have survived
+him, and that his arbitrary practice would have died with him. His power
+had not been consecrated by ancient prejudices. It was upheld only by
+his great personal qualities. Little, therefore, was to be dreaded from
+a second protector, unless he were also a second Oliver Cromwell. The
+events which followed his decease are the most complete vindication of
+those who exerted themselves to uphold his authority. His death
+dissolved the whole frame of society. The army rose against the
+Parliament, the different corps of the army against each other. Sect
+raved against sect. Party plotted against party. The Presbyterians, in
+their eagerness to be revenged on the Independents, sacrificed their own
+liberty, and deserted all their old principles. Without casting one
+glance on the past, or requiring one stipulation for the future, they
+threw down their freedom at the feet of the most frivolous and heartless
+of tyrants.</p>
+
+<p>Then came those days, never to be recalled without a blush, the days of
+servitude without loyalty and sensuality without love, of dwarfish
+talents and gigantic vices, the paradise of cold hearts and narrow
+minds, the golden age of the coward, the bigot, and the slave. The King
+cringed to his rival that he might trample on his people, sank into a
+viceroy of France, and pocketed, with complacent infamy, her degrading
+insults and her more degrading gold. The caresses of harlots and the
+jests of buffoons regulated the policy of the State. The government had
+just ability enough to deceive, and just religion enough to persecute.
+The principles of liberty were the scoff of every grinning courtier, and
+the Anathema Maranatha of every fawning dean. In every high place,
+worship was paid to Charles and James, Belial and Moloch; and England
+propitiated those obscene and cruel idols with the blood of her best and
+bravest children. Crime succeeded to crime, and disgrace to disgrace,
+till the race accursed of God and man was a second time driven forth, to
+wander on the face of the earth, and to be a by-word and a shaking of
+the head to the nations.</p>
+
+<p>Most of the remarks which we have hitherto made on the public character
+of Milton apply to him only as one of a large body. We shall proceed to
+notice some of the peculiarities which distinguished him from his
+contemporaries. And, for that purpose, it is necessary to take a short
+survey of the parties into which the political world was at that time
+divided. We must premise that our observations are intended to apply
+only to those who adhered, from a sincere preference, to one or to the
+other side. In days of public commotion, every faction, like an Oriental
+army, is attended by a crowd of camp-followers, a useless and heartless
+rabble, who prowl round its line of march in the hope of picking up
+something under its protection, but desert it in the day of battle, and
+often join to exterminate it after a defeat. England, at the time of
+which we are treating, abounded with fickle and selfish politicians, who
+transferred their support to every government as it rose; who kissed the
+hand of the king in 1640, and spat in his face in 1649; who shouted with
+equal glee when Cromwell was inaugurated at Westminster Hall and when he
+was dug up to be hanged at Tyburn; who dined on calves' heads, or stuck
+up oak-branches, as circumstances altered, without the slightest shame
+or repugnance. These we leave out of the account. We take our estimate
+of parties from those who really deserve to be called partisans.</p>
+
+<p>We would speak first of the Puritans, the most remarkable body of men,
+perhaps, which the world has ever produced. The odious and ridiculous
+parts of their character lie on the surface. He that runs may read them;
+nor have there been wanting attentive and malicious observers to point
+them out. For many years after the Restoration they were the theme of
+unmeasured invective and derision. They were exposed to the utmost
+licentiousness of the press and of the stage, at the time when the press
+and the stage were most licentious. They were not men of letters; they
+were, as a body, unpopular; they could not defend themselves; and the
+public would not take them under its protection. They were therefore
+abandoned, without reserve, to the tender mercies of the satirists and
+dramatists. The ostentatious simplicity of their dress, their sour
+aspect, their nasal twang, their stiff posture, their long graces, their
+Hebrew names, the Scriptural phrases which they introduced on every
+occasion, their contempt of human learning, their detestation of polite
+amusements, were indeed fair game for the laughers. But it is not from
+the laughers alone that the philosophy of history is to be learned. And
+he who approaches this subject should carefully guard against the
+influence of that potent ridicule which has already misled so many
+excellent writers.</p>
+
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&quot;Ecco il fonte del riso, ed ecco il rio<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Che mortali perigli in se contiene:<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Hor qui tener a fren nostro desio,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Ed esser cauti molto a noi conviene.&quot;<br>
+
+<p>Those who roused the people to resistance; who directed their measures
+through a long series of eventful years; who formed, out of the most
+unpromising materials, the finest army that Europe had ever seen; who
+trampled down King, Church, and Aristocracy; who, in the short intervals
+of domestic sedition and rebellion, made the name of England terrible to
+every nation on the face of the earth--were no vulgar fanatics. Most of
+their absurdities were mere external badges, like the signs of
+freemasonry or the dresses of friars. We regret that these badges were
+not more attractive. We regret that a body to whose courage and talents
+mankind has owed inestimable obligations had not the lofty elegance
+which distinguished some of the adherents of Charles the First, or the
+easy good-breeding for which the court of Charles the Second was
+celebrated. But, if we must make our choice, we shall, like Bassanio in
+the play, turn from the specious caskets which contain only the Death's
+head and the Fool's head, and fix on the plain leaden chest which
+conceals the treasure.</p>
+
+<p>The Puritans were men whose minds had derived a peculiar character from
+the daily contemplation of superior beings and eternal interests. Not
+content with acknowledging, in general terms, an overruling Providence,
+they habitually ascribed every event to the will of the Great Being for
+whose power nothing was too vast, for whose inspection nothing was too
+minute. To know him, to serve him, to enjoy him, was with them the
+great end of existence. They rejected with contempt the ceremonious
+homage which other sects substituted for the pure worship of the soul.
+Instead of catching occasional glimpses of the Deity through an
+obscuring veil, they aspired to gaze full on his intolerable brightness,
+and to commune with him face to face. Hence originated their contempt
+for terrestrial distinctions. The difference between the greatest and
+the meanest of mankind seemed to vanish when compared with the boundless
+interval which separated the whole race from him on whom their own eyes
+were constantly fixed. They recognized no title to superiority but his
+favor; and, confident of that favor, they despised all the
+accomplishments and all the dignities of the world. If they were
+unacquainted with the works of philosophers and poets, they were deeply
+read in the oracles of God. If their names were not found in the
+registers of heralds, they were recorded in the Book of Life. If their
+steps were not accompanied by a splendid train of menials, legions of
+ministering angels had charge over them. Their palaces were houses not
+made with hands; their diadems crowns of glory which should never fade
+away. On the rich and the eloquent, on nobles and priests, they looked
+down with contempt; for they esteemed themselves rich in a more precious
+treasure, and eloquent in a more sublime language, nobles by the right
+of an earlier creation, and priests by the imposition of a mightier
+hand. The very meanest of them was a being to whose fate a mysterious
+and terrible importance belonged; on whose slightest action the spirits
+of light and darkness looked with anxious interest; who had been
+destined, before heaven and earth were created, to enjoy a felicity
+which should continue when heaven and earth should have passed away.
+Events which short-sighted politicians ascribed to earthly causes had
+been ordained on his account. For his sake empires had risen, and
+flourished, and decayed. For his sake the Almighty had proclaimed his
+will by the pen of the evangelist and the harp of the prophet. He had
+been wrested by no common deliverer from the grasp of no common foe. He
+had been ransomed by the sweat of no vulgar agony by the blood of no
+earthly sacrifice. It was for him that the sun had been darkened, that
+the rocks had been rent, that the dead had risen, that all nature had
+shuddered at the sufferings of her expiring God.</p>
+
+<p>Thus the Puritan was made up of two different men, the one all
+self-abasement, penitence, gratitude, passion, the other proud, calm,
+inflexible, sagacious. He prostrated himself in the dust before his
+Maker; but he set his foot on the neck of his king. In his devotional
+retirement, he prayed with convulsions, and groans, and tears. He was
+half maddened by glorious or terrible illusions. He heard the lyres of
+angels or the tempting whispers of fiends. He caught a gleam of the
+Beatific Vision, or woke screaming from dreams of everlasting fire. Like
+Vane, he thought himself intrusted with the sceptre of the millennial
+year. Like Fleetwood, he cried in the bitterness of his soul that God
+had hid his face from him. But when he took his seat in the council, or
+girt on his sword for war, these tempestuous workings of the soul had
+left no perceptible trace behind them. People who saw nothing of the
+godly but their uncouth visages, and heard nothing from them but their
+groans and their whining hymns, might laugh at them. But those had
+little reason to laugh who encountered them in the hall of debate or on
+the field of battle. These fanatics brought to civil and military
+affairs a coolness of judgment and an immutability of purpose which some
+writers have thought inconsistent with their religious zeal, but which
+were in fact the necessary effects of it. The intensity of their
+feelings on one subject made them tranquil on every other. One
+overpowering sentiment had subjected to itself pity and hatred, ambition
+and fear. Death had lost its terrors and pleasure its charms. They had
+their smiles and their tears, their raptures and their sorrows, but not
+for the things of this world. Enthusiasm had made them stoics, had
+cleared their minds from every vulgar passion and prejudice, and raised
+them above the influence of danger and of corruption. It sometimes might
+lead them to pursue unwise ends, but never to choose unwise means. They
+went through the world, like Sir Artegal's iron man Talus with his
+flail, crushing and trampling down oppressors, mingling with human
+beings, but having neither part nor lot in human infirmities; insensible
+to fatigue, to pleasure, and to pain; not to be pierced by any weapon,
+not to be withstood by any barrier.</p>
+
+<p>Such we believe to have been the character of the Puritans. We perceive
+the absurdity of their manners. We dislike the sullen gloom of their
+domestic habits. We acknowledge that the tone of their minds was often
+injured by straining after things too high for mortal reach; and we know
+that, in spite of their hatred of popery, they too often fell into the
+worst vices of that bad system, intolerance and extravagant austerity,
+that they had their anchorites and their crusades, their Dunstans and
+their De Montforts, their Dominics and their Escobars. Yet, when all
+circumstances are taken into consideration, we do not hesitate to
+pronounce them a brave, a wise, an honest, and a useful body.</p>
+
+<p>The Puritans espoused the cause of civil liberty mainly because it was
+the cause of religion. There was another party, by no means numerous,
+but distinguished by learning and ability, which acted with them on very
+different principles. We speak of those whom Cromwell was accustomed to
+call the Heathens, men who were, in the phraseology of that time,
+doubting Thomases or careless Gallios with regard to religious
+subjects, but passionate worshippers of freedom. Heated by the study of
+ancient literature, they set up their country as their idol, and
+proposed to themselves the heroes of Plutarch as their examples. They
+seem to have borne some resemblance to the Brissotines of the French
+Revolution. But it is not very easy to draw the line of distinction
+between them and their devout associates, whose tone and manner they
+sometimes found it convenient to affect, and sometimes, it is probable,
+imperceptibly adopted.</p>
+
+<p>We now come to the Royalists. We shall attempt to speak of them, as we
+have spoken of their antagonists, with perfect candor. We shall not
+charge upon a whole party the profligacy and baseness of the horse-boys,
+gamblers, and bravoes, whom the hope of license and plunder attracted
+from the dens of Whitefriars to the standard of Charles, and who
+disgraced their associates by excesses which, under the stricter
+discipline of the Parliamentary armies, were never tolerated. We will
+select a more favorable specimen. Thinking as we do that the cause of
+the king was the cause of bigotry and tyranny, we yet cannot refrain
+from looking with complacency on the character of the honest old
+Cavaliers. We feel a national pride in comparing them with the
+instruments which the despots of other countries are compelled to
+employ, with the mutes who throng their antechambers, and the
+Janizaries who mount guard at their gates. Our Royalist countrymen were
+not heartless, dangling courtiers, bowing at every step, and simpering
+at every word. They were not mere machines for destruction, dressed up
+in uniforms, caned into skill, intoxicated into valor, defending without
+love, destroying without hatred. There was a freedom in their
+subserviency, a nobleness in their very degradation. The sentiment of
+individual independence was strong within them. They were indeed misled,
+but by no base or selfish motive. Compassion and romantic honor, the
+prejudices of childhood, and the venerable names of history, threw over
+them a spell potent as that of Duessa; and, like the Red Cross Knight,
+they thought that they were doing battle for an injured beauty, while
+they defended a false and loathsome sorceress. In truth, they scarcely
+entered at all into the merits of the political question. It was not for
+a treacherous king or an intolerant church that they fought, but for the
+old banner which had waved in so many battles over the heads of their
+fathers, and for the altars at which they had received the hands of
+their brides. Though nothing could be more erroneous than their
+political opinions, they possessed, in a far greater degree than their
+adversaries, those qualities which are the grace of private life. With
+many of the vices of the Round Table, they had also many of its virtues,
+courtesy, generosity, veracity, tenderness, and respect for women. They
+had far more both of profound and of polite learning than the Puritans.
+Their manners were more engaging, their tempers more amiable, their
+tastes more elegant, and their households more cheerful.</p>
+
+<p>Milton did not strictly belong to any of the classes which we have
+described. He was not a Puritan. He was not a freethinker. He was not a
+Royalist. In his character the noblest qualities of every party were
+combined in harmonious union. From the Parliament and from the court,
+from the conventicle and from the Gothic cloister, from the gloomy and
+sepulchral circles of the Roundheads, and from the Christmas revel of
+the hospitable Cavalier, his nature selected and drew to itself whatever
+was great and good, while it rejected all the base and pernicious
+ingredients by which those finer elements were defiled. Like the
+Puritans, he lived</p>
+
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&quot;As ever in his great taskmaster's eye.&quot;<br>
+
+<p>Like them, he kept his mind continually fixed on the Almighty Judge and
+an eternal reward. And hence he acquired their contempt of external
+circumstances, their fortitude, their tranquillity, their inflexible
+resolution. But not the coolest sceptic or the most profane scoffer was
+more perfectly free from the contagion of their frantic delusions, their
+savage manners, their ludicrous jargon, their scorn of science, and
+their aversion to pleasure. Hating tyranny with a perfect hatred, he had
+nevertheless all the estimable and ornamental qualities which were
+almost entirely monopolized by the party of the tyrant. There was none
+who had a stronger sense of the value of literature, a finer relish for
+every elegant amusement, or a more chivalrous delicacy of honor and
+love. Though his opinions were democratic, his tastes and his
+associations were such as best harmonize with monarchy and aristocracy.
+He was under the influence of all the feelings by which the gallant
+Cavaliers were misled. But of those feelings he was the master, and not
+the slave. Like the hero of Homer, he enjoyed all the pleasures of
+fascination; but he was not fascinated. He listened to the song of the
+Sirens; yet he glided by without being seduced to their fatal shore. He
+tasted the cup of Circe; but he bore about him a sure antidote against
+the effects of its bewitching sweetness. The illusions which captivated
+his imagination never impaired his reasoning powers. The statesman was
+proof against the splendor, the solemnity, and the romance which
+enchanted the poet. Any person who will contrast the sentiments
+expressed in his treatises on Prelacy with the exquisite lines on
+ecclesiastical architecture and music in the Penseroso, which was
+published about the same time, will understand our meaning. This is an
+inconsistency which, more than anything else, raises his character in
+our estimation, because it shows how many private tastes and feelings he
+sacrificed, in order to do what he considered his duty to mankind. It is
+the very struggle of the noble Othello. His heart relents; but his hand
+is firm. He does naught in hate, but all in honor. He kisses the
+beautiful deceiver before he destroys her.</p>
+
+<p>That from which the public character of Milton derives its great and
+peculiar splendor still remains to be mentioned. If he exerted himself
+to overthrow a forsworn king and a persecuting hierarchy, he exerted
+himself in conjunction with others. But the glory of the battle which he
+fought for the species of freedom which is the most valuable, and which
+was then the least understood, the freedom of the human mind, is all his
+own. Thousands and tens of thousands among his contemporaries raised
+their voices against ship-money and the Star-chamber. But there were few
+indeed who discerned the more fearful evils of moral and intellectual
+slavery, and the benefits which would result from liberty of the press
+and the unfettered exercise of private judgment. These were the objects
+which Milton justly conceived to be the most important. He was desirous
+that the people should think for themselves as well as tax themselves,
+and should be emancipated from the dominion of prejudice as well as from
+that of Charles. He knew that those who, with the best intentions,
+overlooked these schemes of reform, and contented themselves with
+pulling down the King and imprisoning the malignants, acted like the
+heedless brothers in his own poem, who, in their eagerness to disperse
+the train of the sorcerer, neglected the means of liberating the
+captive. They thought only of conquering when they should have thought
+of disenchanting.</p>
+
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&quot;Oh, ye mistook! Ye should have snatched his wand<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And bound him fast. Without the rod reversed,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And backward mutters of dissevering power,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; We cannot free the lady that sits here<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Bound in strong fetters fixed and motionless.&quot;<br>
+
+<p>To reverse the rod, to spell the charm backward, to break the ties which
+bound a stupefied people to the seat of enchantment, was the noble aim
+of Milton. To this all his public conduct was directed. For this he
+joined the Presbyterians; for this he forsook them. He fought their
+perilous battle; but he turned away with disdain from their insolent
+triumph. He saw that they, like those whom they had vanquished, were
+hostile to the liberty of thought. He therefore joined the Independents,
+and called upon Cromwell to break the secular chain, and to save free
+conscience from the paw of the Presbyterian wolf. With a view to the
+same great object, he attacked the licensing system, in that sublime
+treatise which every statesman should wear as a sign upon his hand and
+as frontlets between his eyes. His attacks were, in general, directed
+less against particular abuses than against those deeply-seated errors
+on which almost all abuses are founded, the servile worship of eminent
+men and the irrational dread of innovation.</p>
+
+<p>That he might shake the foundations of these debasing sentiments more
+effectually, he always selected for himself the boldest literary
+services. He never came up in the rear, when the outworks had been
+carried and the breach entered. He pressed into the forlorn hope. At the
+beginning of the changes, he wrote with incomparable energy and
+eloquence against the bishops. But when his opinion seemed likely to
+prevail, he passed on to other subjects, and abandoned prelacy to the
+crowd of writers who now hastened to insult a falling party. There is no
+more hazardous enterprise than that of bearing the torch of truth into
+those dark and infected recesses in which no light has ever shone. But
+it was the choice and the pleasure of Milton to penetrate the noisome
+vapors, and to brave the terrible explosion. Those who most disapprove
+of his opinions must respect the hardihood with which he maintained
+them. He, in general, left to others the credit of expounding and
+defending the popular parts of his religious and political creed. He
+took his own stand upon those which the great body of his countrymen
+reprobated as criminal, or derided as paradoxical. He stood up for
+divorce and regicide. He attacked the prevailing systems of education.
+His radiant and beneficent career resembled that of the god of light and
+fertility.</p>
+
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&quot;Nitor in adversum; nec me, qui caetera, vincit<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Impetus, et rapido contrarius evehor orbi.&quot;<br>
+
+<p>It is to be regretted that the prose writings of Milton should, in our
+time, be so little read. As compositions, they deserve the attention of
+every man who wishes to become acquainted with the full power of the
+English language. They abound with passages compared with which the
+finest declamations of Burke sink into insignificance. They are a
+perfect field of cloth of gold. The style is stiff with gorgeous
+embroidery. Not even in the earlier books of the Paradise Lost has the
+great poet ever risen higher than in those parts of his controversial
+works in which his feelings, excited by conflict, find a vent in bursts
+of devotional and lyrical rapture. It is, to borrow his own majestic
+language, &quot;a sevenfold chorus of hallelujahs and harping symphonies.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>We had intended to look more closely at these performances, to analyze
+the peculiarities of the diction, to dwell at some length on the sublime
+wisdom of the Areopagitica and the nervous rhetoric of the Iconoclast
+and to point out some of those magnificent passages which occur in the
+Treatise of Reformation, and the Animadversions on the Remonstrant. But
+the length to which our remarks have already extended renders this
+impossible.</p>
+
+<p>We must conclude. And yet we can scarcely tear ourselves away from the
+subject. The days immediately following the publication of this relic of
+Milton appear to be peculiarly set apart, and consecrated to his memory.
+And we shall scarcely be censured if, on this his festival, we be found
+lingering near his shrine, how worthless soever may be the offering
+which we bring to it. While this book lies on our table, we seem to be
+contemporaries of the writer. We are transported a hundred and fifty
+years back. We can almost fancy that we are visiting him in his small
+lodging; that we see him sitting at the old organ beneath the faded
+green hangings; that we can catch the quick twinkle of his eyes, rolling
+in vain to find the day; that we are reading in the lines of his noble
+countenance the proud and mournful history of his glory and his
+affliction. We imagine to ourselves the breathless silence in which we
+should listen to his slightest word, the passionate veneration with
+which we should kneel to kiss his hand and weep upon it, the earnestness
+with which we should endeavor to console him, if indeed such a spirit
+could need consolation, for the neglect of an age unworthy of his
+talents and his virtues, the eagerness with which we should contest
+with his daughters, or with his Quaker friend Elwood, the privilege of
+reading Homer to him, or of taking down the immortal accents which
+flowed from his lips.</p>
+
+<p>These are perhaps foolish feelings. Yet we cannot be ashamed of them;
+nor shall we be sorry if what we have written shall in any degree excite
+them in other minds. We are not much in the habit of idolizing either
+the living or the dead. And we think that there is no more certain
+indication of a weak and ill-regulated intellect than that propensity
+which, for want of a better name, we will venture to christen
+Boswellism. But there are a few characters which have stood the closest
+scrutiny and the severest tests, which have been tried in the furnace
+and have proved pure, which have been weighed in the balance and have
+not been found wanting, which have been declared sterling by the general
+consent of mankind, and which are visibly stamped with the image and
+superscription of the Most High. These great men we trust that we know
+how to prize; and of these was Milton. The sight of his books, the sound
+of his name, are pleasant to us. His thoughts resemble those celestial
+fruits and flowers which the Virgin Martyr of Massinger sent down from
+the gardens of Paradise to the earth, and which were distinguished from
+the productions of other soils, not only by superior bloom and
+sweetness, but by miraculous efficacy to invigorate and to heal. They
+are powerful, not only to delight, but to elevate and purify. Nor do we
+envy the man who can study either the life or the writings of the great
+poet and patriot without aspiring to emulate, not indeed the sublime
+works with which his genius has enriched our literature, but the zeal
+with which he labored for the public good, the fortitude with which he
+endured every private calamity, the lofty disdain with which he looked
+down on temptations and dangers, the deadly hatred which he bore to
+bigots and tyrants, and the faith which he so sternly kept with his
+country and with his fame.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><hr style="width: 35%;"><br><br>
+<h2><a name="JOHANN_WOLFGANG_VON_GOETHE."></a>JOHANN WOLFGANG VON GOETHE.
+<a name="FNanchor5"></a><a href="#Footnote_5"><sup>[5]</sup></a></h2>
+
+<hr style="width: 25%;">
+
+<p>1749-1832.</p>
+
+<p>GERMANY'S GREATEST WRITER.</p>
+
+<p>BY FREDERIC HENRY HEDGE.</p>
+
+<hr style="width: 25%;">
+
+<p>I. THE MAN.</p>
+
+<p>Genius of the supreme order presupposes a nature of equal scope as the
+prime condition of its being. The Gardens of Adonis require little
+earth, but the oak will not flourish in a tub; and the wine of Tokay is
+the product of no green-house, nor gotten of sour grapes. Given a
+genuine great poet, you will find a greater man behind, in whom, among
+others, these virtues predominate,--courage, generosity, truth.</p>
+
+<a name="Footnote_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor5">[5]</a> From &quot;Hours with the German Classics,&quot; by FREDERIC HENRY
+HEDGE (copyright by him in 1886). With permission of Messrs. LITTLE,
+BROWN, &amp; CO., Publishers, Boston, Mass.
+
+<p>Pre-eminent among the poets of the modern world stands Goethe, chief of
+his own generation, challenging comparison with the greatest of all
+time. His literary activity embraces a span of nigh seventy years in a
+life of more than fourscore, beginning, significantly enough, with a
+poem on &quot;Christ's Descent into Hell&quot; (his earliest extant composition),
+and ending with Faust's--that is, Man's--ascent into heaven. The rank
+of a writer--his spiritual import to human kind--may be inferred from
+the number and worth of the writings of which he has furnished the topic
+and occasion. &quot;When kings build,&quot; says Schiller, speaking of Kant's
+commentators, &quot;the draymen have plenty to do.&quot; Dante and Shakspeare have
+created whole libraries through the interest inspired by their writings.
+The Goethe-literature, so-called,--though scarce fifty years have
+elapsed since the poet's death,--already numbers its hundreds
+of volumes.</p>
+
+<p>I note in this man, first of all, as a literary phenomenon, the
+unexampled fact of supreme excellence in several quite distinct
+provinces of literary action. Had we only his minor poems, he would rank
+as the first of lyrists. Had he written only &quot;Faust,&quot; he would be the
+first of philosophic poets. Had he written only &quot;Hermann and Dorothea,&quot;
+the sweetest idyllist; if only the &quot;M&auml;rchen,&quot; the subtlest of
+allegorists. Had he written never a verse, but only prose, he would hold
+the highest place among the prose-writers of Germany. And lastly, had he
+written only on scientific subjects, in that line also--in the field of
+science--he would be, as he is, an acknowledged leader.</p>
+
+<p>Noticeable in him also is the combination of extraordinary genius with
+extraordinary fortune. A magnificent person, a sound physique, inherited
+wealth, high social position, official dignity, with eighty-three years
+of earthly existence, compose the framework of this illustrious life.</p>
+
+<p>Behind the author, behind the poet, behind the world-renowned genius, a
+not unreasonable curiosity seeks the original man, the human individual,
+as he walked among men, his manner of being, his characteristics, as
+shown in the converse of life. In what soil grew the flowers and ripened
+the fruits which have been the delight and the aliment of nations? In
+proportion, of course, to the eminence attained by a writer,--in
+proportion to the worth of his works, to their hold on the world,--is
+the interest felt in his personality and behavior, in the incidents of
+his life. Unfortunately, our knowledge of the person is not always
+proportioned to the lustre of the name. Of the two great poets to whom
+the world's unrepealable verdict has assigned the foremost place in
+their several kinds, we know in one case absolutely nothing, and next to
+nothing in the other. To the question, Who sung the wrath of Achilles
+and the wanderings of the much-versed Odysseus? tradition answers with a
+name to which no faintest shadow of a person corresponds. To the
+question, Who composed &quot;Hamlet&quot; and &quot;Othello&quot;? history answers with a
+person so indistinct that recent speculation has dared to question the
+agency of Shakspeare in those creations. What would not the old
+scholiasts have given for satisfactory proofs of the existence of a
+Homer identical with the author of the Iliad and the Odyssey? What
+would not the Shakspeare clubs give for one more authentic anecdote of
+the world's great dramatist?</p>
+
+<p>Of Goethe we know more--I mean of his externals--than of any other
+writer of equal note. This is due in part to his wide relations,
+official and other, with his contemporaries; to his large correspondence
+with people of note, of which the documents have been preserved by the
+parties addressed; to the interest felt in him by curious observers
+living in the day of his greatness. It is due in part also to the fact
+that, unlike the greatest of his predecessors, he flourished in an
+all-communicating, all-recording age; and partly it is due to
+autobiographical notices, embracing important portions of his history.</p>
+
+<p>Two seemingly opposite factors--limiting and qualifying the one the
+other--determined the course and topics of his life. One was the aim
+which he proposed to himself as the governing principle and purpose of
+his being,--to perfect himself, to make the most of the nature which God
+had given him; the other was a constitutional tendency to come out of
+himself, to lose himself in objects, especially in natural objects, so
+that in the study of nature--to which he devoted a large part of his
+life--he seems not so much a scientific observer as a chosen confidant,
+to whom the discerning Mother revealed her secrets.</p>
+
+<p>In no greatest genius are all its talents self-derived. Countless
+influences mould our intellect and mould our heart. One of these, and
+often one of the most potent, is heredity. Consciously or unconsciously,
+for good or for evil, physically and mentally, the father and mother are
+in the child, as indeed all his ancestors are in every man.</p>
+
+<p>Of Goethe's father we know only what the son himself has told us in his
+memoirs. A man of austere presence, from whom Goethe, as he tells us,
+inherited his bodily stature and his serious treatment of life,--</p>
+
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&quot;Vom Vater hab ich die Statur,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Des Lebens ernstes f&uuml;hren.&quot;<br>
+
+<p>By profession a lawyer, but without practice, living in grim seclusion
+amid his books and collections; a man of solid acquirements and large
+culture, who had travelled in Italy and first awakened in Wolfgang the
+longing for that land; a man of ample means, inhabiting a stately
+mansion. For the rest, a stiff, narrow-minded, fussy pedant, with small
+toleration for any methods or aims but his own; who, while he
+appreciated the superior gifts of his son, was obstinately bent on
+guiding them in strict professional grooves, and teased him with the
+friction of opposing wills.</p>
+
+<p>The opposite, in most respects, of this stately and pedantic worthy was
+the Frau R&auml;thin, his youthful wife, young enough to have been his
+daughter,--a jocund, exuberant nature, a woman to be loved; one who
+blessed society with her presence, and possessed uncommon gifts of
+discourse. She was but eighteen when Wolfgang was born,--a companion to
+him and his sister Cornelia; one in whom they were sure to find sympathy
+and ready indulgence. Goethe was indebted to her, as he tells us, for
+his joyous spirit and his narrative talent,--</p>
+
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&quot;Von M&uuml;tterchen die Frohnatur<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Und Lust zu fabuliren.&quot;<br>
+
+<p>Outside of the poet's household, the most important figure in the circle
+of his childish acquaintance was his mother's father, from whom he had
+his name, Johann Wolfgang Textor, the <i>Schultheiss</i>, or chief
+magistrate, of the city. From him Goethe seems to have inherited the
+superstition of which some curious examples are recorded in his life. He
+shared with Napoleon and other remarkable men, says Von M&uuml;ller, the
+conceit that little mischances are prophetic of greater evils. On a
+journey to Baden-Baden with a friend, his carriage was upset and his
+companion slightly injured. He thought it a bad omen, and instead of
+proceeding to Baden-Baden chose another watering-place for his summer
+resort. If in his almanac there happened to be a blot on any date, he
+feared to undertake anything important on the day so marked. He had
+noted certain fatal days; one of these was the 22d of March. On that day
+he had lost a valued friend; on that day the theatre to which he had
+devoted so much time and labor was burned; and on that day, curiously
+enough, he died. He believed in oracles; and as Rousseau threw stones at
+a tree to learn whether or no he was to be saved (the hitting or not
+hitting the tree was to be the sign), so Goethe tossed a valuable
+pocket-knife into the river Lahn to ascertain whether he would succeed
+as a painter. If behind the bushes which bordered the stream, he saw the
+knife plunge, it should signify success; if not, he would take it as an
+omen of failure. Rousseau was careful, he tells us, to choose a stout
+tree, and to stand very near. Goethe, more honest with himself, adopted
+no such precaution; the plunge of the knife was not seen, and the
+painter's career was abandoned.</p>
+
+<p>Wordsworth's saying, &quot;the child is the father of the man,&quot;--a saying
+which owes its vitality more to its form than its substance,--is not
+always verified, or its truth is not always apparent in the lives of
+distinguished men. I find not much in Goethe the child prophetic of
+Goethe the man. But the singer and the seeker, the two main tendencies
+of his being, are already apparent in early life. Of moral traits, the
+most conspicuous in the child is a power of self-control,--a moral
+heroism, which secured to him in after life a natural leadership
+unattainable by mere intellectual supremacy. An instance of this
+self-control is recorded among the anecdotes of his boyhood. At one of
+the lessons which he shared with other boys, the teacher failed to
+appear. The young people awaited his coming for a while, but toward the
+close of the hour most of them departed, leaving behind three who were
+especially hostile to Goethe. &quot;These,&quot; he says, &quot;thought to torment, to
+mortify, and to drive me away. They left me a moment, and returned with
+rods taken from a broom which they had cut to pieces. I perceived their
+intention, and, supposing the expiration of the hour to be near, I
+immediately determined to make no resistance until the clock should
+strike. Unmercifully, thereupon, they began to scourge in the cruellest
+manner my legs and calves. I did not stir, but soon felt that I had
+miscalculated the time, and that such pain greatly lengthens the
+minutes.&quot; When the hour expired, his superior activity enabled him to
+master all three, and to pin them to the ground.</p>
+
+<p>In later years the same zeal of self-discipline which prompted the child
+to exercise himself in bearing pain, impelled the man to resist and
+overcome constitutional weaknesses by force of will. A student of
+architecture, he conquered a tendency to giddiness by standing on
+pinnacles and walking on narrow rafters over perilous abysses. In like
+manner he overcame the ghostly terrors instilled in the nursery, by
+midnight visits to churchyards and uncanny places.</p>
+
+<p>To real peril, to fear of death, he seems to have had that native
+insensibility so notable always in men of genius, in whom the conviction
+of a higher destiny begets the feeling of a charmed life,--such as
+Plutarch records of the first Caesar in peril of shipwreck on the river
+Anio. In the French campaign (1793), in which Goethe accompanied the
+Duke of Weimar against the armies of the Republic, a sudden impulse of
+scientific curiosity prompted him, in spite of warnings and
+remonstrances, to experiment on what is called the &quot;cannon-fever.&quot; For
+this purpose he rode to a place in which he was exposed to a cross-fire
+of the two armies, and coolly watched the sensations experienced in that
+place of peril.</p>
+
+<p>Command of himself, acquired by long and systematic discipline, gave him
+that command over others which he exercised in several memorable
+instances. Coming from a ball one night,--a young man fresh from the
+University,--he saw that a fire had broken out in the Judengasse, and
+that people were standing about helpless and confused without a leader;
+he immediately jumped from his carriage, and, full dressed as he was, in
+silk stockings and pumps, organized on the spot a fire-brigade, which
+averted a dangerous conflagration. On another occasion, voyaging in the
+Mediterranean, he quelled a mutiny on board an Italian ship, when
+captain and mates were powerless, and the vessel drifting on the rocks,
+by commanding sailors and passengers to fall on their knees and pray to
+the Virgin,--adopting the idiom of their religion as well as their
+speech, of which he was a master.</p>
+
+<p>As a student, first at Leipsic, then at Strasburg, including the years
+from 1766 to 1771, he seems not to have been a very diligent attendant
+on the lectures in either university, and to have profited little by
+professional instruction. In compliance with the wishes of his father,
+who intended him for a jurist, he gave some time to the study of the
+law; but on the whole the principal gain of those years was derived from
+intercourse with distinguished intellectual men and women, whose
+acquaintance he cultivated, and the large opportunities of social life.</p>
+
+<p>In Strasburg occurred the famous love-passage with Friederike Brion,
+which terminated so unhappily at the time, and so fortunately in the
+end, for both.</p>
+
+<p>Goethe has been blamed for not marrying Friederike. His real blame
+consists in the heedlessness with which, in the beginning of their
+acquaintance, he surrendered himself to the charm of her presence,
+thereby engaging her affection without a thought of the consequences to
+either. Besides the disillusion, which showed him, when he came fairly
+to face the question, that he did not love her sufficiently to justify
+marriage, there were circumstances--material, economical--which made it
+practically impossible. Her suffering in the separation, great as it
+was,--so great indeed as to cause a dangerous attack of bodily
+disease,--could not outweigh the pangs which he endured in his penitent
+contemplation of the consequences of his folly.</p>
+
+<p>The next five years were spent partly in Frankfort and partly in
+Wetzlar, partly in the forced exercise of his profession, but chiefly in
+literary labors and the use of the pencil, which for a time disputed
+with the pen the devotion of the poet-artist. They may be regarded as
+perhaps the most fruitful, certainly the most growing, years of his
+life. They gave birth to &quot;G&ouml;tz von Berlichingen&quot; and the &quot;Sorrows of
+Werther,&quot; to the first inception of &quot;Faust,&quot; and to many of his sweetest
+lyrics. It was during this period that he made the acquaintance of
+Charlotte Buff, the heroine of the &quot;Sorrows of Werther,&quot; from whom he
+finally tore himself away, leaving Wetzlar when he discovered that their
+growing interest in each other was endangering her relation with
+Kestner, her betrothed. In those years, also, he formed a matrimonial
+engagement with Elizabeth Sch&ouml;nemann (Lili), the rupture of which, I
+must think, was a real misfortune for the poet. It came about by no
+fault of his. Her family had from the first opposed themselves to the
+match on the ground of social disparity. For even in mercantile
+Frankfort rank was strongly marked; and the Goethes, though respectable
+people, were beneath the Sch&ouml;nemanns in the social scale. Goethe's
+genius went for nothing with Madame Sch&ouml;nemann; she wanted for her
+daughter an aristocratic husband, not a literary one,--one who had
+wealth in possession, and not merely, as Goethe had, in prospect. How
+far Lili was influenced by her mother's and brother's representations it
+is impossible to say; however, she showed herself capricious, was
+sometimes cold, or seemed so to him, while favoring the advances of
+others. Goethe was convinced that she did not entertain for him that
+devoted love without which he felt that their union could not be a happy
+one. They separated; but on her death-bed she confessed to a friend that
+all she was, intellectually and morally, she owed to him.</p>
+
+<p>In 1775 our poet was invited by the young Duke of Saxe-Weimar, Karl
+August,--whose acquaintance he had made at Frankfort and at Mentz, his
+junior by two or three years,--to establish himself in civil service at
+the Grand-Ducal Court. The father, who had other views for his son, and
+was not much inclined to trust in princes, objected; many wondered, some
+blamed. Goethe himself appears to have wavered with painful indecision,
+and at last to have followed a mysterious impulse rather than a clear
+conviction or deliberate choice. His Heidelberg friend and hostess
+sought still to detain him, when the last express from Weimar drove up
+to the door. To her he replied in the words of his own Egmont:--</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Say no more! Goaded by invisible spirits, the sun-steeds of time run
+away with the light chariot of our destiny; there is nothing for it but
+to keep our courage, hold tight the reins, and guide the wheels now
+right, now left, avoiding a stone here, a fall there. Whither away? Who
+knows? Scarcely one remembers whence he came.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>It does not appear that he ever repented this most decisive step of his
+life-journey, nor does there appear to have been any reason why he
+should. A position, an office of some kind, he needs must have. Even
+now, the life of a writer by profession, with no function but that of
+literary composition, is seldom a prosperous one; in Goethe's day, when
+literature was far less remunerative than it is in ours, it was seldom
+practicable. Unless he had chosen to be maintained by his father, some
+employment besides that of book-making was an imperative necessity. The
+alternative of that which was offered--the one his father would have
+chosen--was that of a plodding jurist in a country where forensic
+pleading was unknown, and where the lawyer's profession offered no scope
+for any of the higher talents with which Goethe was endowed. On the
+whole, it was a happy chance that called him to the little capital of
+the little Grand-Duchy of Saxe-Weimar. If the State was one of petty
+dimensions (a kind of pocket-kingdom, like so many of the
+principalities of Germany), it nevertheless included some of the fairest
+localities, and one at least of the most memorable in Europe,--the
+Wartburg, where Luther translated the Bible, where Saint Elizabeth
+dispensed the blessings of her life, where the Minnesingers are said to
+have held their poetic tournament,--</p>
+
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&quot;Heinrich von Ofterdingen,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Wolfram von Eschenbach.&quot;<br>
+
+<p>It included also the University of Jena, which at that time numbered
+some of the foremost men of Germany among its professors. It was a
+miniature State and a miniature town; one wonders that Goethe, who would
+have shone the foremost star in Berlin or Vienna, could content himself
+with so narrow a field. But Vienna and Berlin did not call him until it
+was too late,--until patronage was needless; and Weimar did. A miniature
+State,--but so much the greater his power and freedom and the
+opportunity of beneficent action.</p>
+
+<p>No prince was ever more concerned to promote in every way the welfare of
+his subjects than Karl August; and in all his works undertaken for this
+purpose, Goethe was his foremost counsellor and aid. The most important
+were either suggested by him or executed under his direction. Had he
+never written a poem, or given to the world a single literary
+composition, he would still have led, as a Weimar official, a useful and
+beneficent life. But the knowledge of the world and of business, the
+social and other experience gained in this way, was precisely the
+training which he needed,--and which every poet needs,--for the
+broadening and deepening and perfection of his art. Friedrich von
+M&uuml;ller, in his valuable treatise of &quot;Goethe as a Man of Affairs,&quot; tells
+us how he traversed every portion of the country to learn what advantage
+might be taken of topographical peculiarities, what provision made for
+local necessities. &quot;Everywhere--on hilltops crowned with primeval
+forests, in the depths of gorges and shafts--Nature met her favorite
+with friendly advances, and revealed to him many a desired secret.&quot;
+Whatever was privately gained in this way was applied to public uses. He
+endeavored to infuse new life into the mining business, and to make
+himself familiar with all its technical requirements. For that end he
+revived his chemical experiments. New roads were built, hydraulic
+operations were conducted on more scientific principles, fertile meadows
+were won from the river Saale by systematic drainage, and in many a
+struggle with Nature an intelligently persistent will obtained
+the victory.</p>
+
+<p>Nor was it with material obstacles only that the poet-minister had to
+contend. In the exercise of the powers intrusted to him he often
+encountered the fierce opposition of party interest and stubborn
+prejudice, and was sometimes driven to heroic and despotic measures in
+order to accomplish a desired result,--as when he foiled the
+machinations of the Jena professors in his determination to save the
+University library, and when, in spite of the opposition of the leading
+burghers, he demolished the city wall.</p>
+
+<p>In 1786 Goethe was enabled to realize his cherished dream of a journey
+to Italy. There he spent a year and a half in the diligent study and
+admiring enjoyment of the treasures of art which made that country then,
+even more than now, the mark and desire of the civilized world. He came
+back an altered man. Intellectually and morally he had made in that
+brief space, under new influences, a prodigious stride. His sudden
+advance while they had remained stationary separated him from his
+contemporaries. The old associations of the Weimar world, which still
+revolved its little round, the much-enlightened traveller had outgrown.
+People thought him cold and reserved. It was only that the gay,
+impulsive youth had ripened into an earnest, sedate man. He found
+Germany jubilant over Schiller's &quot;Robbers&quot; and other writings
+representative of the &quot;storm-and-stress&quot; school, which his maturity had
+left far behind, his own contributions to which he had come to hate.
+Schiller, who first made his acquaintance at this time, writes
+to K&ouml;rner:--</p>
+
+<p>&quot;I doubt that we shall ever become intimate. Much that to me is still of
+great interest he has already outlived. He is so far beyond me, not so
+much in years as in experience and culture, that we can never come
+together in one course.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>How greatly Schiller erred in the supposition that they never could
+become intimate, how close the intimacy which grew up between them, what
+harmony of sentiment, how friendly and mutually helpful their
+co-operation, is sufficiently notorious.</p>
+
+<p>But such was the first aspect which Goethe presented to strangers at
+this period of his life; he rather repelled than attracted, until nearer
+acquaintance learned rightly to interpret the man, and intellectual or
+moral affinity bridged the chasm which seemed to divide him from his
+kind. In part, too, the distance and reserve of which people complained
+was a necessary measure of self-defence against the disturbing
+importunities of social life. &quot;From Rome,&quot; says Friedrich von M&uuml;ller,
+&quot;from the midst of the richest and grandest life, dates the stern maxim
+of 'Renunciation' which governed his subsequent being and doing, and
+which furnished his only guarantee of mental equipoise and peace.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>His literary works hitherto had been spasmodic and lawless effusions,
+the escapes of a gushing, turbulent youth. In Rome he had learned the
+sacred significance of art. The consciousness of his true vocation had
+been awakened in him; and to that, on the eve of his fortieth year, he
+thenceforth solemnly devoted the remainder of his life. He obtained
+release from the more onerous of his official engagements, retaining
+only such functions as accorded with his proper calling as a man of
+letters and of science. He renounced his daily intercourse with Frau von
+Stein, though still retaining and manifesting his unabated friendship
+for the woman to whom in former years he had devoted so large a portion
+of his time, and employed himself in giving forth those immortal words
+which have settled forever his place among the stars of first magnitude
+in the intellectual world.</p>
+
+<p>Noticeable and often noted was the charm and (when arrived to maturity)
+the grand effect of his personal presence. Physical beauty is not the
+stated accompaniment, nor even the presumable adjunct, of intellectual
+greatness. In Goethe, as perhaps in no other, the two were combined. A
+wondrous presence!--on this point the voices are one and the witnesses
+many. &quot;Goethe was with us,&quot; so writes Heinse to one of his friends; &quot;a
+beautiful youth of twenty-five, full of genius and force from the crown
+of his head to the sole of his foot; a heart full of feeling, a spirit
+full of fire, who with eagle wings <i>ruit immensus ore profundo</i>.&quot; Jacobi
+writes: &quot;The more I think of it, the more impossible it seems to me to
+communicate to any one who has not seen Goethe any conception of this
+extraordinary creature of God.&quot; Lavater says: &quot;Unspeakably sweet, an
+indescribable appearance, the most terrible and lovable of men.&quot;
+Hufeland, the chief medical celebrity of Germany, describes his
+appearance in early manhood: &quot;Never shall I forget the impression which
+he made as 'Orestes' in Greek costume. You thought you beheld an Apollo.
+Never was seen in any man such union of physical and spiritual
+perfection and beauty as at that time in Goethe.&quot; More remarkable still
+is the testimony of Wieland, who had reason to be offended, having been
+before their acquaintance the subject of Goethe's sharp satire. But
+immediately at their first meeting, sitting at table &quot;by the side,&quot; he
+says, &quot;of this glorious youth, I was radically cured of all my
+vexation.... Since this morning,&quot; he wrote to Jacobi, &quot;my soul is as
+full of Goethe as a dewdrop is of the morning sun.&quot; And to Zimmermann:
+&quot;He is in every respect the greatest, best, most splendid human being
+that ever God created.&quot; Goethe was then twenty-six. Henry Crabbe
+Robinson, who saw him at the age of fifty-two, reports him one of the
+most &quot;oppressively handsome&quot; men he had ever seen, and speaks
+particularly as all who have described him speak, of his wonderfully
+brilliant eyes. Those eyes, we are told, had lost nothing of their
+lustre, nor his head its natural covering, at the age of eighty.</p>
+
+<p>Among the heroic qualities notable in Goethe, I reckon his faithful and
+unflagging industry. Here was a man who took pains with himself,--<i>liess
+sich's sauer werden,</i>--and made the most of himself. He speaks of
+wasting, while a student in Leipsic, &quot;the beautiful time;&quot; and certainly
+neither at Leipsic nor afterward at Strasburg did he toil as his Wagner
+in &quot;Faust&quot; would have done. But he was always learning. In the
+lecture-room or out of it, with pen and books or gay companions, he was
+taking in, to give forth again in dramatic or philosophic form the world
+of his experience.</p>
+
+<p>A frolicsome youth may leave something to regret in the way of time
+misspent; but Goethe the man was no dawdler, no easy-going Epicurean. On
+the whole, he made the most of himself, and stands before the world a
+notable instance of a complete life. He would do the work which was
+given him to do. He would not die till the second part of &quot;Faust&quot; was
+brought to its predetermined close. By sheer force of will he lived till
+that work was done. Smitten at fourscore by the death of his son, and by
+deaths all around, he kept to his task. &quot;The idea of duty alone sustains
+me; the spirit is willing, the flesh must.&quot; When &quot;Faust&quot; was finished,
+the strain relaxed. &quot;My remaining days,&quot; he said, &quot;I may consider a free
+gift; it matters little what I do now, or whether I do anything.&quot; And
+six months later he died.</p>
+
+<p>A complete life! A life of strenuous toil! At home and abroad,--in
+Italy and Sicily, at Ilmenau and Carlsbad, as in his study at
+Weimar,--with eye or pen or speech, he was always at work. A man of
+rigid habits; no lolling or lounging. &quot;He showed me,&quot; says Eckermann,
+&quot;an elegant easy-chair which he had bought to-day at auction. 'But,'
+said he, 'I shall never or rarely use it; all indolent habits are
+against my nature. You see in my chamber no sofa; I sit always in my old
+wooden chair, and never, till a few weeks ago, have permitted even a
+leaning place for my head to be added. If surrounded by tasteful
+furniture, my thoughts are arrested; I am placed in an agreeable but
+passive state. Unless we are accustomed to them from early youth,
+splendid chambers and elegant furniture had better be left to people
+without thoughts.'&quot; This in his eighty-second year!</p>
+
+<p>A widely diffused prejudice regarding the personal character of Goethe
+refuses to credit him with any moral worth accordant with his bodily and
+mental gifts. It figures him a libertine,--heartless, loveless, bad. I
+do not envy the mental condition of those who can rest in the belief
+that a really great poet can be a bad man. Be assured that the fruits of
+genius have never grown, and will never grow, in such a soil. Of all
+great poets Byron might seem at first glance to constitute an exception
+to this--I venture to call it--law of Nature. Yet hear what Walter
+Scott, a sufficient judge, said of Byron:--</p>
+
+<p>&quot;The errors of Lord Byron arose neither from depravity of heart--for
+nature had not committed the anomaly of uniting to such extraordinary
+talents an imperfect moral sense--nor from feelings dead to the
+admiration of virtue. No man had ever a kinder heart for sympathy, or a
+more open hand for the relief of distress; and no mind was ever more
+formed for enthusiastic admiration of noble actions.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The case of Goethe requires no appeal to general principles. It only
+requires that the charges against him be fairly investigated; that he be
+tried by documentary evidence, and by the testimony of competent
+witnesses. The mistake is made of confusing breaches of conventional
+decorum with essential depravity.</p>
+
+<p>That Goethe was faulty in many ways may be freely conceded. But surely
+there is a wide difference between not being faultless and being
+definitely bad. To call a man bad is to say that the evil in him
+preponderates over the good. In the case of Goethe the balance was
+greatly the other way. It has been said that he abused the confidence
+reposed in him by women; that he encouraged affection which he did not
+reciprocate for artistic purposes. The charge is utterly groundless; and
+in the case of Bettine has been refuted by irrefragable proof. To say
+that he was wanting in love, heartless, cold, is ridiculously false. Yet
+the charge is constantly reiterated in the face of facts,--reiterated
+with undoubting assurance and a certain complacency which seems to say,
+&quot;Thank God! we are not as this man was.&quot; There is a satisfaction which
+some people feel in <i>spotting</i> their man,--Burns drank; Coleridge took
+opium; Byron was a rake; Goethe was cold: by these marks we know them.
+The poet found it necessary, as I have said, in later years, under
+social pressure, for the sake of the work which was given him to do, to
+fortify himself with a mail of reserve. And this, indeed, contrasted
+strangely with his former <i>abandon</i>, and with the customary gush of
+German sentimentality. It was common then for Germans who had known each
+other by report, and were mutually attracted, when first they met, to
+fall on each other's necks and kiss and weep. Goethe, as a young man,
+had indulged such fervors; but in old age he had lost this effusiveness,
+or saw fit to restrain himself outwardly, while his kindly nature still
+glowed with its pristine fires. He wrote to Frau von Stein, &quot;I may truly
+say that my innermost condition does not correspond to my outward
+behavior.&quot; Hence the charge of coldness. Say that Mount Aetna is cold:
+do we not see the snow on its sides?</p>
+
+<p>But he was unpatriotic; he occupied himself with poetry, and did not cry
+out while his country was in the death-throes--so it seemed--of the
+struggle with France! But what should he have done? What <i>could</i> he
+have done? What would his single arm or declamation have availed? No man
+more than Goethe longed for the rehabilitation of Germany. In his own
+way he wrought for that end; he could work effectually in no other. That
+enigmatical composition,--the &quot;M&auml;rchen,&quot;--according to the latest
+interpretation, indicates how, in Goethe's view, that end was to be
+accomplished. To one who considers the relation of ideas to events, it
+will not seem extravagant when I say that to Goethe, more than to any
+one individual, Germany is indebted for her emancipation, independence,
+and present political regeneration.<a name="FNanchor6"></a><a href="#Footnote_6"><sup>[6]</sup></a></p>
+
+<a name="Footnote_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor6">[6]</a> (The following interpretation of the &quot;M&auml;rchen&quot; is condensed
+from a later portion of this essay, and used here as a foot-note for the
+light it throws upon Goethe's political career.)
+<br><br>
+In the summer of 1795 Goethe composed for Schiller's new magazine, &quot;Die
+Horen,&quot; a prose poem known in German literature as <i>Das M&auml;rchen,</i>--&quot;
+<i>The</i> Tale;&quot; as if it were the only one, or the one which more than
+another deserves that appellation....
+<br><br>
+Goethe gave this essay to the public as a riddle which would probably be
+unintelligible at the time, but which might perhaps find an interpreter
+after many days, when the hints contained in it should be verified.
+Since its first appearance commentators have exercised their ingenuity
+upon it, perceiving it to be allegorical, but until recently without
+success.... I follow Dr. Herman's Baumgart's lead in the exposition
+which I now offer.
+<br><br>
+&quot;The Tale&quot; is a prophetic vision of the destinies of Germany,--an
+allegorical foreshowing at the close of the eighteenth century of what
+Germany was yet to become, and has in great part already become. A
+position is predicted for her like that which she occupied from the time
+of Charles the Great to the time of Charles V.,--a period during which
+the Holy Roman Empire of Germany was the leading secular power in
+Western Europe. That time had gone by. Since the middle of the sixteenth
+century Germany had declined, and at the date of this writing (1795) had
+nearly reached her darkest day. Disintegrated, torn by conflicting
+interests, pecked by petty rival princes, despairing of her own future,
+it seemed impossible that she should ever again become a power among the
+nations. Goethe felt this; he felt it as profoundly as any German of his
+day ... and he characteristically went into himself and studied the
+situation. The result was this wonderful composition,--&quot;Das M&auml;rchen.&quot; He
+perceived that Germany must die to be born again. She did die, and is
+born again. He had the sagacity to foresee the dissolution of the Holy
+Roman Empire,--an event which took place eleven years later, in 1806.
+The Empire is figured by the composite statue of the fourth King in the
+subterranean Temple, which crumbles to pieces when that Temple,
+representing Germany's past, emerges and stands above ground by the
+River. The resurrection of the Temple and its stand by the River is the
+<i>d&eacute;nouement</i> of the Tale. And that signifies, allegorically, the
+rehabilitation of Germany.
+
+<p>It is true, his writings contain no declamations against tyrants, and
+no tirades in favor of liberty. He believed that oppression existed only
+through ignorance and blindness, and these he was all his life long
+seeking to remove. He believed that true liberty is attainable only
+through mental illumination, and that he was all his life long seeking
+to promote.</p>
+
+<p>He was no agitator, no revolutionist; he had no faith in violent
+measures. Human welfare, he judged, is not to be advanced in that way;
+is less dependent on forms of polity than on the life within. But if the
+test of patriotism is the service rendered to one's country, who more
+patriotic than he? Lucky for us and the world that he persisted to serve
+her in his own way, and not as the agitators claimed that he should. It
+was clear to him then, and must be clear to us now, that he could not
+have been what they demanded, and at the same time have given to his
+country and the world what he did.</p>
+
+<p>As a courtier and favorite of Fortune, it was inevitable that Goethe
+should have enemies. They have done what they could to blacken his name;
+and to this day the shadow they have cast upon it in part remains. But
+of this be sure, that no selfish, loveless egoist could have had and
+retained such friends. The man whom the saintly Fraulein von Klettenberg
+chose for her friend, whom clear-sighted, stern-judging Herder declared
+that he loved as he did his own soul; the man whose thoughtful kindness
+is celebrated by Herder's incomparable wife, whom Karl August and the
+Duchess Luise cherished as a brother; the man whom children everywhere
+welcomed as their ready playfellow and sure ally, of whom pious Jung
+Stilling lamented that admirers of Goethe's genius knew so little of the
+goodness of his heart,--can this have been a bad man, heartless, cold?</p>
+
+<p>II. THE WRITER.</p>
+
+<p>I have said that to Goethe, above all writers, belongs the distinction
+of having excelled, not experimented merely,--that, others have also
+done,--but excelled in many distinct kinds. To the lyrist he added the
+dramatist, to the dramatist the novelist, to the novelist the mystic
+seer, and to all these the naturalist and scientific discoverer. The
+history of literature exhibits no other instance in which a great poet
+has supplemented his proper orbit with so wide an epicyle.</p>
+
+<p>In poetry, as in science, the ground of his activity was a passionate
+love of Nature, which dates from his boyhood. At the age of fifteen,
+recovering from a sickness caused by disappointment in a boyish affair
+of the heart, he betook himself with his sketch-book to the woods. &quot;In
+the farthest depth of the forest,&quot; he says, &quot;I sought out a solemn spot,
+where ancient oaks and beeches formed a shady retreat. A slight
+declivity of the soil made the merit of the ancient boles more
+conspicuous. This space was inclosed by a thicket of bushes, between
+which peeped moss-covered rocks, mighty and venerable, affording a rapid
+fall to an affluent brook.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The sketches made of these objects at that early age could have had no
+artistic value, although the methodical father was careful to mount and
+preserve them. But what the pencil, had it been the pencil of the
+greatest master, could never glean from scenes like these, what art
+could never grasp, what words can never formulate, the heart of the boy
+then imbibed, assimilated, resolved in his innermost being. There awoke
+in him then those mysterious feelings, those unutterable yearnings, that
+pensive joy in the contemplation of Nature, which leavened all his
+subsequent life, and the influence of which is so perceptible in his
+poetry, especially in his lyrics....</p>
+
+<p>The first literary venture by which Goethe became widely known was &quot;G&ouml;tz
+von Berlichingen,&quot; a dramatic picture of the sixteenth century, in which
+the principal figure is a predatory noble of that name. A dramatic
+picture, but not in any true sense a play, it owed its popularity at the
+time partly to the truth of its portraitures, partly to its choice of a
+native subject and the truly German feeling which pervades it. It was a
+new departure in German literature, and perplexed the critics as much as
+it delighted the general public. It anticipated by a quarter of a
+century what is technically called the Romantic School.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;G&ouml;tz von Berlichingen&quot; was soon followed by the &quot;Sorrows of
+Werther,&quot;--one of those books which, on their first appearance have
+taken the world by storm, and of which Mrs. Stowe's &quot;Uncle Tom's Cabin&quot;
+is the latest example. It is a curious circumstance that a great poet
+should have won his first laurels by prose composition. Sir Walter Scott
+eclipsed the splendor of his poems by the popularity of the Waverley
+novels. Goethe eclipsed the world-wide popularity of his &quot;Werther&quot; by
+the splendor of his poems.</p>
+
+<p>Of one who was great in so many kinds, it may seem difficult to decide
+in what department he most excelled. Without undertaking to measure and
+compare what is incommensurable, I hold that Goethe's genius is
+essentially lyrical. Whatever else may be claimed for him, he is, first
+of all, and chiefly, a singer. Deepest in his nature, the most innate of
+all his faculties, was the faculty of song, of rhythmical utterance. The
+first to manifest itself in childhood, it was still active at the age of
+fourscore. The lyrical portions of the second part of &quot;Faust,&quot; some of
+which were written a short time before his death, are as spirited, the
+versification as easy, the rhythm as perfect, as the songs of his youth.</p>
+
+<p>As a lyrist he is unsurpassed, I venture to say unequalled, if we take
+into view the whole wide range of his performance in this kind,--from
+the ballads, the best-known of his smaller poems, and those light
+fugitive pieces, those bursts of song which came to him without effort,
+and with such a rush that in order to arrest and preserve them he
+seized, as he tells us, the first scrap of paper that came to hand and
+wrote upon it diagonally, if it happened so to lie on his table, lest,
+through the delay of selecting and placing, the inspiration should be
+checked and the poem evaporate,--from these to such stately compositions
+as the &quot;Zueignung,&quot; or dedication of his poems, the &quot;Weltseele&quot; and the
+&quot;Orphic Sayings,&quot;--in short, from poetry that writes itself, that
+springs spontaneously in the mind, to poetry that is written with
+elaborate art. There is this distinction, and it is one of the most
+marked in lyric verse. Compare in English poetry, by way of
+illustration, the snatches of song in Shakspeare's plays with
+Shakspeare's sonnets; compare Burns with Gray; compare Jean Ingelow
+with Browning.</p>
+
+<p>Goethe's ballads have an undying popularity; they have been translated,
+and most of them are familiar to English readers....</p>
+
+<p>In the Elegies written after his return from Italy, the author figures
+as a classic poet inspired by the Latin Muse. The choicest of these
+elegies--the &quot;Alexis and Dora&quot;--is not so much an imitation of the
+ancients as it is the manifestation of a side of the poet's nature which
+he had in common with the ancients. He wrote as a Greek or Roman might
+write, because he felt his subject as a Greek or Roman might feel it.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Hermann und Dorothea,&quot; which Schiller pronounced
+the acme not only of Goethean but of all modern art,
+was written professedly as an attempt in the Homeric<a name="FNanchor7"></a><a href="#Footnote_7"><sup>[7]</sup></a>
+style, motived by Wolf's &quot;Prolegomena&quot; and Voss's
+&quot;Luise.&quot; It is Homeric only in its circumstantiality,
+in the repetition of the same epithets applied to the
+same persons, and in the Greek realism of Goethe's
+nature. The theme is very un-Homeric; it is thoroughly
+modern and German,--
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&quot;Germans themselves I present, to the humbler dwelling I lead you,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Where with Nature as guide man is natural still.&quot; <a name="FNanchor8"></a><a href="#Footnote_8"><sup>[8]</sup></a><br>
+
+<a name="Footnote_7"></a><a href="#FNanchor7">[7]</a> &quot;Doch Homeride zu sein, auch noch als letzter, ist sch&ouml;n.&quot;
+
+<a name="Footnote_8"></a><a href="#FNanchor8">[8]</a> From the Elegy entitled &quot;Hermann und Dorothea.&quot;
+
+<p>This exquisite poem has been translated into English hexameters with
+great fidelity by Miss Ellen Frothingham.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Iphigenie auf Tauris&quot; handles a Greek theme, exhibits Greek characters,
+and was hailed on its first appearance as a genuine echo of the Greek
+drama. Mr. Lewes denies it that character; and certainly it is not
+Greek, but Christian, in sentiment. It differs from the extant drama of
+Euripides, who treats the same subject, in the Christian feeling which
+determines its <i>d&eacute;nouement</i>....</p>
+
+<p>A large portion of Goethe's productions have taken the dramatic form;
+yet he cannot be said, theatrically speaking, to have been, like
+Schiller, a successful dramatist. His plays, with the exception of
+&quot;Egmont&quot; and the First Part of &quot;Faust,&quot; have not commanded the stage;
+they form no part, I believe, of the stock of any German theatre. The
+characterizations are striking, but the positions are not dramatic.
+Single scenes in some of them are exceptions,--like that in &quot;Egmont,&quot;
+where Clara endeavors to rouse her fellow-citizens to the rescue of the
+Count, while Brackenburg seeks to restrain her, and several of the
+scenes in the First Part of &quot;Faust.&quot; But, on the whole, the interest of
+Goethe's dramas is psychological rather than scenic. Especially is this
+the case with &quot;Tasso,&quot; one of the author's noblest works, where the
+characters are not so much actors as metaphysical portraitures.
+Schiller, in his plays, had always the stage in view. Goethe, on the
+contrary, wrote for readers, or cultivated, reflective hearers, not
+spectators.....</p>
+
+<p>When I say, then, that Goethe, compared with Schiller, failed of
+dramatic success, I mean that his talent did not lie in the line of
+plays adapted to the stage as it is; or if the talent was not wanting,
+his taste did not incline to such performance. He was no playwright.</p>
+
+<p>But there is another and higher sense of the word <i>dramatic</i>, where
+Goethe is supreme,--the sense in which Dante's great poem is called
+<i>Commedia</i>, a play. There is a drama whose scope is beyond the compass
+of any earthly stage,--a drama not for theatre-goers, to be seen on the
+boards, but for intellectual contemplation of men and angels. Such a
+drama is &quot;Faust,&quot; of which I shall speak hereafter.</p>
+
+<p>Of Goethe's prose works,--I mean works of prose fiction,--the most
+considerable are two philosophical novels, &quot;Wilhelm Meister&quot; and the
+&quot;Elective Affinities.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>In the first of these the various and complex motives which have shaped
+the composition may be comprehended in the one word <i>education</i>,--the
+education of life for the business of life. The main thread of the
+narrative traces through a labyrinth of loosely connected scenes and
+events the growth of the hero's character,--a progressive training by
+various influences, passional, intellectual, social, moral, and
+religious. These are represented by the <i>personnel</i> of the story. In
+accordance with this design, the hero himself, if so he may be called,
+has no pronounced traits, is more negative than positive, but is brought
+into contact with many very positive characters. His life is the stage
+on which these characters perform. A ground is thus provided for the
+numerous portraits of which the author's large experience furnished the
+originals, and for lessons of practical wisdom derived from his close
+observation of men and things and his lifelong reflection thereon.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Wilhelm Meister,&quot; if not the most artistic, is the most instructive,
+and in that view, next to &quot;Faust,&quot; the most important, of Goethe's
+works. In it he has embodied his philosophy of life,--a philosophy far
+enough removed from the epicurean views which ignorance has ascribed to
+him,--a philosophy which is best described by the term <i>ascetic</i>. Its
+keynote is Renunciation. &quot;With renunciation begins the true life,&quot; was
+the author's favorite maxim; and the second part of &quot;Wilhelm
+Meister&quot;--the <i>Wanderjahre</i>--bears the collateral title <i>Die
+Entsagenden</i>; that is, the &quot;Renouncing&quot; or the &quot;Self-denying.&quot; The
+characters that figure in this second part--most of whom have had their
+training in the first--form a society whose principle of union is
+self-renunciation and a life of beneficent activity....</p>
+
+<p>The most fascinating character in &quot;Wilhelm Meister&quot;--the wonder and
+delight of the reader--is Mignon, the child-woman,--a pure creation of
+Goethe's genius, without a prototype in literature. Readers of Scott
+will remember Fenella, the elfish maiden in &quot;Peveril of the Peak.&quot; Scott
+says in his Preface to that novel: &quot;The character of Fenella, which from
+its peculiarity made a favorable impression on the public, was far from
+being original. The fine sketch of Mignon in Wilhelm Meister's
+<i>Lehrjahre</i>--a celebrated work from the pen of Goethe--gave the idea of
+such a being. But the copy will be found to be greatly different from my
+great prototype; nor can I be accused of borrowing anything save the
+general idea.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>As I remember Fenella, the resemblance to Mignon is merely superficial.
+A certain weirdness is all they have in common. The intensity of the
+inner life, the unspeakable longing, the cry of the unsatisfied heart,
+the devout aspiration, the presentiment of the heavenly life which
+characterize Mignon are peculiar to her; they constitute her
+individuality. Wilhelm has found her a kidnapped child attached to a
+strolling circus company, and has rescued her from the cruel hands of
+the manager. Thenceforth she clings to him with a passionate devotion,
+in which gratitude for her deliverance, filial affection, and the love
+of a maiden for her hero are strangely blended. Afflicted with a disease
+of the heart, she is subject to terrible convulsions, which increase the
+tenderness of her protector for the doomed child. After one of these
+attacks, in which she had been suffering frightful pain, we read:--</p>
+
+<p>&quot;He held her fast. She wept; and no tongue can express the force of
+those tears. Her long hair had become unfastened and hung loose over her
+shoulders. Her whole being seemed to be melting away.... At last she
+raised herself up. A mild cheerfulness gleamed from her face. 'My
+father!' she cried, 'you will not leave me! You will be my father! I
+will be your child.' Softly, before the door, a harp began to sound. The
+old Harper was bringing his heartiest songs as an evening sacrifice to
+his friend.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Then bursts on the reader that world-famed song, in which the soul of
+Mignon, with its unconquerable yearnings, is forever embalmed,--&quot;Kennst
+du das Land&quot;:--</p>
+
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&quot;Know'st thou the land that bears the citron's bloom?<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The golden orange glows 'mid verdant gloom,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; A gentle wind from heaven's deep azure blows,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The myrtle low, and high the laurel grows,--<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Know'st thou the land?<a name="FNanchor9"></a><a href="#Footnote_9"><sup>[9]</sup></a><br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Oh, there! oh, there!<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Would I with thee, my best beloved, repair.&quot; ...<br>
+
+<a name="Footnote_9"></a><a href="#FNanchor9">[9]</a> Literally, &quot;Know'st thou it well?&quot; But the word &quot;well,&quot; in
+this case, does not answer to the German <i>wohl</i>.
+
+<p>The &quot;Elective Affinities&quot; has been strangely misinterpreted as having
+an immoral tendency, as encouraging conjugal infidelity, and approving
+&quot;free love.&quot; That any one who has read the work with attention to the
+end could so misjudge it seems incredible. Precisely the reverse of
+this, its aim is to enforce the sanctity of the nuptial bond by showing
+the tragic consequences resulting from its violation, though only in
+thought and feeling....</p>
+
+<p>Here, a word concerning one merit of Goethe which seems to me not to
+have been sufficiently appreciated by even his admirers,--his loving
+skill in the delineation of female character; the commanding place he
+assigns to woman in his writings; his full recognition of the importance
+of feminine influence in human destiny. The prophetic utterance, which
+forms the conclusion of &quot;Faust,&quot;--&quot;The ever womanly draws us on,&quot;--is
+the summing up of Goethe's own experience of life. Few men had ever such
+wide opportunities of acquaintance with women. If, on the one hand, his
+loves had revealed to him the passional side of feminine nature, he had
+enjoyed, on the other, the friendship of some of the purest and noblest
+of womankind. Conspicuous among these are Fr&auml;ulein von Klettenberg and
+the Duchess Luise, whom no one, says Lewes, ever speaks of but in terms
+of veneration. No poet but Shakspeare, and scarcely Shakspeare, has set
+before the world so rich a gallery of female portraits. They range from
+the lowest to the highest,--from the wanton to the saint; they are drawn
+in firm lines, and limned in imperishable colors, ... each bearing the
+stamp of her own individuality, and each confessing a master's hand.
+These may be considered as representing different phases of the poet's
+experience,--different <i>stadia</i> in his view of life. &quot;The ever womanly
+draws us on.&quot; So Goethe, of all men most susceptible of feminine
+influence, was led by it from weakness to strength, from dissipation to
+concentration, from doubt to clearness, from tumult to repose, from the
+earthly to the heavenly.</p>
+
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&quot;FAUST.&quot;<br>
+
+<p>Goethe appears to have derived his knowledge of the Faust legend partly
+from the work of Widmann, published in 1599,<a name="FNanchor10"></a><a href="#Footnote_10"><sup>[10]</sup></a> partly from another
+more modern in its form, which appeared in 1728, and partly from the
+puppet plays exhibited in Frankfort and other cities of Germany, of
+which that legend was then a favorite theme. He was not the only writer
+of that day who made use of it. Some thirty of his contemporaries had
+produced their &quot;Fausts&quot; during the interval which elapsed between the
+inception and publication of his great work. Oblivion overtook them all,
+with the exception of Lessing's, of which a few fragments are left; the
+manuscript of the complete work was unaccountably lost on its way to the
+publisher, between Dresden and Leipsic.</p>
+
+<a name="Footnote_10"></a><a href="#FNanchor10">[10]</a> The earlier work of Spiess (1588) was translated into
+English and furnished Marlowe with the subject-matter of his &quot;Dr.
+Faustus.&quot;
+
+<p>The composition of &quot;Faust,&quot; as we learn from Goethe's biography,
+proceeded spasmodically, with many and long interruptions between the
+inception and conclusion. Projected in 1769 at the age of twenty, it was
+not completed till the year 1831, at the age of eighty-two....</p>
+
+<p>But the effect of the long arrest, which after Goethe's removal to
+Weimar delayed the completion of the &quot;Faust,&quot; is most apparent in the
+wide gulf which separates, as to character and style, the Second Part
+from the First. So great, indeed, is the distance between the two that,
+without external historical proofs of identity, it would seem from
+internal evidence altogether improbable, in spite of the slender thread
+of the fable which connects them, that both poems were the work of one
+and the same author. And really the author was not the same. The change
+which had come over Goethe on his return from Italy had gone down to the
+very springs of his intellectual life. The fervor and the rush, the
+sparkle and foam of his early productions, had been replaced by the
+stately calm and the luminous breadth of view that is born of
+experience. The torrent of the mountains had become the river of the
+plain; romantic impetuosity had changed to classic repose. He could
+still, by occasional efforts of the will, cast himself back into the old
+moods, resume the old thread, and so complete the first &quot;Faust.&quot; But we
+may confidently assert that he could not, after the age of forty, have
+originated the poem, any more than before his Italian tour he could have
+written the second &quot;Faust,&quot; purporting to be a continuation of the
+first. The difference in spirit and style is enormous.</p>
+
+<p>As to the question which of the two is the greater production, it is
+like asking which is the greater, Dante's &quot;Commedia&quot; or Shakspeare's
+&quot;Macbeth&quot;? They are incommensurable. As to which is the more generally
+interesting, no question can arise. There are thousands who enjoy and
+admire the First Part to one who even reads the Second. The interest of
+the former is poetic and thoroughly human; the interest of the other is
+partly poetic, but mostly philosophic and scientific....</p>
+
+<p>The symbolical character of &quot;Faust&quot; is assumed by all the critics, and
+in part confessed by the author himself. Besides the general symbolism
+pervading and motiving the whole,--a symbolism of human destiny,--and
+here and there a shadowing forth of the poet's private experience, there
+are special allusions--local, personal, enigmatic conceits--which have
+furnished topics of learned discussion and taxed the ingenuity of
+numerous commentators. We need not trouble ourselves with these
+subtleties. But little exegesis is needed for a right comprehension of
+the true and substantial import of the work.</p>
+
+<p>The key to the plot is given in the Prologue in Heaven. The devil, in
+the character of Mephistopheles, asks permission to tempt Faust; he
+boasts his ability to get entire possession of his soul and drag him
+down to hell. The Lord grants the permission, and prophesies the failure
+of the attempt:--</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Be it allowed! Draw this spirit from its Source if you can lay hold of
+him; bear him with you on your downward path, and stand ashamed when you
+are forced to confess that a good man in his dark strivings has a
+consciousness of the right way.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Here we have a hint of the author's design. He does not intend that the
+devil shall succeed; he does not mean to adopt the conclusion of the
+legend and send Faust to hell. He had the penetration to see, and he
+meant to show, that the notion implied in the old popular superstition
+of selling one's soul to the devil--the notion that evil can obtain the
+entire and final possession of the soul--is a fallacy; that the soul is
+not man's to dispose of, and cannot be so traded away. We are the
+soul's, not the soul ours. Evil is self-limited; the good in man must
+finally prevail. So long as he strives he is not lost; Heaven will come
+to the aid of his better nature. This is the doctrine, the philosophy,
+of &quot;Faust.&quot; In the First Part, stung by disappointment in his search of
+knowledge, by failure to lay hold of the superhuman, and urged on by his
+baser propensities personified in Mephistopheles, Faust abandons himself
+to sensual pleasure,--seduces innocence, burdens his soul with heavy
+guilt, and seems to be entirely given over to evil. This Part ends with
+Mephistopheles' imperious call,--&quot;Her zu mir,&quot;--as if secure of his
+victim. Before the appearance of the Second Part, the reader was at
+liberty to accept that conclusion. But in the Second Part Faust
+gradually wakes from the intoxication of passion, outgrows the dominion
+of appetite, plans great and useful works, whereby Mephistopheles loses
+more and more his hold of him; and after his death is baffled in his
+attempt to appropriate Faust's immortal part, to which the heavenly
+Powers assert their right....</p>
+
+<p>The character of Margaret is unique; its duplicate is not to be found in
+all the picture galleries of fiction. Shakspeare, in the wide range of
+his feminine <i>personnel</i>, has no portrait like this. A girl of low birth
+and vulgar circumstance, imbued with the ideas and habits of her class,
+speaking the language of that class from which she never for a moment
+deviates into finer phrase, takes on, through the magic handling of the
+poet, an ideal beauty. Externally common and prosaic in all her ways,
+she is yet thoroughly poetic, transfigured in our conception by her
+perfect love. To that love, unreasoning, unsuspecting,--to the excess of
+that which in itself is no fault, but beautiful and good,--her fall and
+ruin are due. Her story is the tragedy of her sex in all time. As
+Schlegel said of the &quot;Prometheus Bound,&quot;--&quot;It is not a single tragedy,
+but tragedy itself.&quot; ...</p>
+
+<p>[The First Part ends with the prison scene, where poor Margaret,
+escaping by death, ascends to heaven, while Mephistopheles, shouting an
+imperious &quot;Hither to me!&quot; disappears with Faust.] The reader is allowed
+to suppose--and most readers did suppose--that the author meant it
+should be inferred that the devil had secured his victim, and that
+Faust, according to the legend, had paid the forfeit of his soul to the
+powers of hell.</p>
+
+<p>But Faust reappears in a new poem,--the Second Part. He is there
+introduced sleeping, as if burying in torpor the lusts and crimes and
+sorrows of his past career. Pitying spirits are about him, to heal his
+woes and promote his return to a better life....</p>
+
+<p>[At the end of his hundred years of earthly life,] Mephistopheles ...
+fails to secure the immortal part of Faust, which the angels appropriate
+and bear aloft:</p>
+
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&quot;This member of the upper spheres<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; We rescue from the devil;<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; For whoso strives and perseveres<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; May be redeemed from evil.&quot;<br>
+
+<p>The last two lines may be supposed to contain the author's justification
+of Mephistopheles' defeat and Faust's salvation. Though a man surrender
+himself to evil, if there is that in him which evil cannot satisfy, an
+impulse by which he outgrows the gratifications of vice, extends his
+horizon and lifts his desires, pursues an onward course until he learns
+to place his aims outside of himself, and to seek satisfaction in works
+of public utility,--he is beyond the power of Satan: he may be redeemed
+from evil.</p>
+
+<p>One could wish, indeed, that more decisive marks of moral development
+had been exhibited in the latter stages of Faust's career. But here
+comes in the Christian doctrine of Grace, which Goethe applies to the
+problem of man's destiny. Faust is represented as saved by no merit of
+his own, but by the interest which Heaven has in every soul in which
+there is the possibility of a heavenly life.</p>
+
+<p>And so the new-born ascending spirit is committed by the Mater gloriosa
+to the tutelage of Gretchen [Margaret],--<i>una poenitentium,</i>--now
+purified from all the stains of her earthly life, to whom is given the
+injunction:--</p>
+
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&quot;Lift thyself up to higher spheres!<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; When he divines, he'll follow thee.&quot;<br>
+
+<p>And the Mystic Choir chants the epilogue which embodies the moral of
+the play:--</p>
+
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&quot;All that is perishing<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Types the ideal;<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Dream of our cherishing<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Thus becomes real.<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Superhumanly<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Here it is done;<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The ever womanly<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Draweth us on.&quot;<br>
+
+
+<br><br><hr style="width: 35%;"><br><br>
+<h2><a name="ALFRED_(LORD)_TENNYSON."></a>ALFRED (LORD) TENNYSON.</h2>
+
+<hr style="width: 25%;">
+
+<p>1809-1892.</p>
+
+<p>THE SPIRIT OF MODERN POETRY.</p>
+
+<p>BY G. MERCER ADAM.</p>
+
+<p>Of Tennyson what can one write freshly to-day that will not seem but an
+echo of what has been said or written of England's noble singer who, on
+the death of Wordsworth, now over half a century ago, assumed the
+official bays of the English laureateship? Personal homage, of course,
+one can pay to the illustrious name, so dear to the heart of the
+English-speaking race; but how freshly or vitally can any writer now
+speak of that magnificent body of his verse which is the glory of his
+age, of the nobility and knightly virtues of its author's character, of
+the splendor of his genius, or of the breadth of intellectual and
+spiritual interests which was so signally manifested in all that
+Tennyson thought and wrote? Among the &quot;Beacon Lights&quot; in the present
+series of volumes the Laureate of the age has not hitherto been
+included, and to fill the gap the writer of this sketch has ventured,
+not, of course, to say all that might be said of the great poet, but
+modestly to deal with the man and his art, so that neither his era nor
+his work shall go unchronicled or fail of some recognition, however
+inadequate, in these pages.</p>
+
+<p>Tennyson's supreme excellence, it is admitted, lies not so much in his
+themes as in his transcendent art. It is this that has given him his
+hold upon a cultured age and won for him immortality. His work is the
+perfection of literary form, and, in his lyrical pieces especially, his
+melody is exquisite. Not less masterly is his power of construction,
+while his sensibility to beauty is phenomenal. His secluded life brought
+him close to nature's heart and made him familiar with her every voice
+and mood. In interpreting these, much of the charm lies in the fidelity
+of his descriptions and in the surpassing beauty of the word-painting.
+In the Shakespearian sense he lacked the dramatic faculty, and he had
+but slender gifts of invention and creation. But broad, if not always
+strong, was his intelligence, and keen his interest in the problems of
+the time. Though living apart from the world, he was yet of it; and in
+many of his poems may be traced not only the doings, but the thought and
+tendencies, of his age. His Christianity, though undogmatic, was real
+and pervasive, and his love for nature was a devotion. In national
+affairs, as befitted the official singer of his country (witness his
+fine 'Ode on the Death of the Duke of Wellington'), he showed himself
+the historic as well as the modern Englishman, and great was his
+reverence for law and freedom. Attractive also, if at times somewhat
+commonplace, is the quiet domestic sphere which Tennyson has hallowed in
+the many modern idylls which depict the joys and sorrows of humble life.
+No trait in the poet's many-sided character is more beautiful than the
+sympathy he has manifested in these poems with the world's toilers;
+while nothing could well be more touching than the pathos with which he
+invests their simple annals.</p>
+
+<p>Typical of the Victorian age in which he lived, Tennyson is also
+representative of its highest thought and culture. This is seen not only
+in the thought of his verse, but in its splendid forms, and especially
+in the technical equipment of the poet. In his dialogues there is much
+movement and action, and he had consummate skill in the handling of
+metres. Few poets have approached him in the successful writing of blank
+verse, which has a delightful cadence as well as calm strength. Above
+all his gifts, he was an artist in words, his ear being most sensitively
+attuned and his taste pure and refined for the delicate artistry of the
+poet's work. In this respect he is a matchless literary workman. Besides
+the music of his verse, his thought is ever high, and in his serious
+moods consecrated to noble and reverent purposes. In the midst of the
+negations and convulsive movements of his day his spirit is always
+serene, and his thought, while at times dreamily melancholy, is
+conserving and full of faith's highest assurance. His sympathy with his
+fellow-man was keen and wide-souled; and though he stood aloof from the
+conflict and struggle of his day, he was far from indifferent to its
+movements, and with high purpose strove if not to direct at least to
+reflect them. This was specially characteristic of the man, and in the
+conflict with doubt no poet has more keenly interpreted the mental
+struggles of the thoughtful soul and the deep underlying spirit of his
+time, or more beneficently given the age an assured ground of faith
+while conserving its highest and dearest hopes. Happily, too, unlike
+many poets, his own character was lofty and blameless, and hence his
+message comes with more consistency, as well as with a higher
+inspiration and power. Nor is the message the less impressive for the
+note of honest doubt which finds utterance in many a poem, or for the
+intimation of a creed that is at once liberal and conservative. With the
+evidences before the reader that the poet himself had had his own
+soul-wrestlings and periods of mental conflict, his counsellings of
+courage and faith are all the more effective, as they are in unison with
+his belief in the upward progress of the race, and his unshaken trust in
+a higher Power.</p>
+
+<p>Lacking in intensity of passion and dramatic force, Tennyson here again
+is but typical of his era, to him one of reposeful content and calm,
+reasoning progress. Of permanent, lasting value much of his verse
+undoubtedly is, but not all of it will escape the indifference of
+posterity or the measuring-rod and censure, it may be, of the future
+critic. He had not the stirring strains or the careless rapture of other
+and earlier poets of the motherland,--his characteristic is more
+contemplative and brooding,--yet his range is unusually comprehensive
+and his power varied and sustained, as well as marked by the highest
+qualities of rhythmic beauty. In the idyll, where he specially shines,
+we have much that is lovely and limpid, with abounding instances of that
+felicitous word-painting for which he was noted. This is especially seen
+in the simple pastoral idylls, such as 'Dora,' 'The May Queen,' and 'The
+Miller's Daughter,' or in those tender lyrics such as 'Mariana,' 'Sir
+Galahad,' 'The Dying Swan,' and 'The Talking Oak.' In the ballads and
+songs, how felicitous again is the poet's work, and how rich yet
+mellifluous is the strain! Had Tennyson written nothing else but these,
+with the verse included in the volumes issued by him in 1832 and 1842,
+how high would he have been placed in the choir of song, and how supreme
+should we have deemed his art! In &quot;The Princess&quot; alone there are songs
+that would have made any poet's reputation, while for music and color,
+and especially for perfection of poetic workmanship, they are almost
+matchless in their beauty.</p>
+
+<p>Fortunately, however, the poet was to give us much even beyond these
+surpassingly beautiful things, and make a more unique and distinctive
+contribution to the verse of his era. In the years that followed the
+production of his early writings the poet matures in thought as his art
+ripens and reaches still higher qualities of craftsmanship. Recluse as
+he was, he moreover had his experiences of life and drank deeply of
+sorrow's cup, as we see in &quot;In Memoriam,&quot;--that noble tribute to his
+youthful friend, Arthur Hallam, with its grand hymnal qualities and
+powerful and reverent lessons for an age shifting in its beliefs and
+unconfirmed in its faith. In later work from his pen we also see the
+Laureate--for he has now received official recognition from his
+nation--in his relations to the culture as well as to the thought of his
+time, keeping pace with the age in all its complex engrossments and
+problems. This is shown in much and varied work turned out with its
+author's loving interest in the poetic art, and with characteristic
+delicacy and finish. The most important labor of this later time
+includes &quot;The Princess,&quot; &quot;Maud and Other Poems,&quot; &quot;Enoch Arden,&quot; the
+dramas &quot;Becket,&quot; &quot;Queen Mary,&quot; and &quot;Harold,&quot; &quot;Tiresias,&quot; &quot;Demeter,&quot; &quot;The
+Foresters,&quot; but above all, and most notably, that grand epic of King
+Arthur's time,--&quot;The Idylls of the King.&quot; In the latter, the most
+characteristic, and perhaps the most permanent, of Tennyson's work, the
+poet manifests his historic sense and love for England's legendary past,
+and achieves his design not only to glorify it, but to imbue it with a
+deep ethical motive and underlying purpose, the expression of his own
+chivalrous, knightly soul and strenuous, thoughtful, and blameless life.
+In these splendid tales of knight-errantry we have the full flower of
+the poet's genius, narrated in the true romantic spirit, but with an
+ideality and imagination quite Tennysonian, and with a spiritualistic
+touch in harmony with &quot;the voice of the age&quot; that reminds us that,--</p>
+
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&quot;Our little systems have their day;<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; They have their day and cease to be:<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; They are but broken lights of thee,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And thou, O Lord, art more than they.&quot;<br>
+
+<p>It is with such themes and speculations that Tennyson has powerfully and
+impressively influenced his age. Beyond and above the mere artistry of
+the poet, we recognize his interest in man's higher, spiritual being,
+his love for nature, and awe in contemplating the heights and depths of
+infinite time and space, ever looking upward and inward at the mysteries
+of the world behind the phenomena of sense. It is difficult, in set
+theological terms, to define the poet's creed, though we know that he
+was won by the Broad Church teaching of his friends, Frederick Robertson
+and Denison Maurice, and had himself many a battle to fight with honest
+doubts until--as his 'Crossing the Bar' shows us--he finally conquered
+and laid them. But while there is an absence of definite doctrine in his
+work there is no question about his religious convictions or of his
+belief in the eternal verities, the immanence of God in man and the
+universe. Throughout his poems he assumes the existence of a great
+Spirit and recognizes that our souls are a part of Him, however Faith at
+times seems to veil her face from the poet, and all appears a mystery,
+though a mystery presided over by infinite Power and Love. The great
+problems of metaphysics and of man's origin and destiny, we are told,
+occupied much of his thought, and he dwelt upon them with eager, intense
+interest, and touched upon them with great candor, earnestness, and
+truthfulness. No sophistry could shake his belief in man's immortality,
+for without belief in this doctrine the human race, he was convinced,
+had not incentive enough to virtue, while all man's inspirations were
+otherwise meaningless. For the doctrine of Evolution, in its
+materialistic aspect, he had nothing but scorn, though he accepted it in
+the more spiritual guise with which Russel Wallace propounded it. If we
+come from the brutes we are nevertheless linked with the Divine, he
+believed, and it was the Divine in man that was to conquer the brute
+within him, and, in the upward struggle, work out salvation. So, in the
+realm of physical science, on the principles of which, as Huxley tells
+us, he had a great grasp, the poet, while appalled by the mystery,
+accepts and indeed rejoices in its truths, though he cannot acquiesce in
+a godless world or in the denial of a life to come, in which the race,
+through infinite love, shall be brought into union with God.</p>
+
+<p>But leaving here Tennyson's speculations and beliefs,--a most
+interesting part of the poet's analytical and reflective character,--let
+us look for a little at the man personally, and record briefly the chief
+incidents in his quiet though ideal home-life. To those who know the
+Memoir by his son, Hallam Tennyson,--a memoir that while paying honor to
+filial reverence and devotion is at the same time and in all respects
+most worthy of its high theme,--the events in the poet's life will
+hardly need dwelling upon, though they throw much light on, and impart
+the distinction of a high dignity to, the Laureate's work. The life
+Hallam Tennyson describes was, we know, not lived in the public eye, and
+was wholly without sensational elements or any of the vapid interests
+which usually attach to a man whose name is, in a special sense, public
+property, and about whom the world was eagerly, and often officiously,
+curious. The life the poet lived, in a popular sense, lacked all that
+usually attracts the masses, for he was personally little known to his
+generation, rarely seen among large gatherings of the people, and, great
+Englishman as he was, was almost a stranger, in his later years at
+least, in the English metropolis, or, if we except the seats of the
+universities, in any of the chief towns of the kingdom. And yet, in
+another and a higher sense, the century has hardly known among its many
+intellectual forces one that has been more influential in its effect
+upon literary art, or in certain directions has more potently influenced
+the ideals and more profoundly given expression to the ethical and
+philosophic thought of the time. Secluded as his life was, it was one
+not of obscurity or of mere asceticism; on the contrary, it was rich in
+all the elements that make for a great reputation, and ever devoted to
+strenuous, elevating purpose, and to an ideal poetic career.</p>
+
+<p>So far as his tastes and opportunity offered, Tennyson's life, moreover,
+was enriched by many wise and noble friendships, and by intimacy with
+not a few of the best and most thoughtful minds of his age. It was
+spent, we rejoice to think also, in unceasing toil in and for his high
+art, with a resulting productiveness which proved the extent and varied
+range of his labors as well as the mastery of his craft.</p>
+
+<p>Until the appearance of the biography referred to, we had known the
+Laureate almost wholly through his books. Now, thanks to the
+authoritative record of his accomplished surviving son, we know the poet
+as he lived, and feel that behind his writings there is a personality of
+the most interesting and impressive kind. It is a personality such as
+consorts with the opinions which most thoughtful readers of Tennyson's
+writings must have had of one of the greatest and serenest minds of the
+age,--a poet who, aside from the splendor of his workmanship and the
+beauty and melody of his verse, has greatly enriched the poetic
+literature of the century, and has, we feel, given profound thought to
+the intellectual problems and spiritual aspirations of his era. Nor does
+the Memoir, as a revelation of the poet's intellectual and personal
+life, fall away, on any page of it, from the high plane on which it has
+been prepared and written. There is no undue invasion, which a son's
+pride might be apt to make, of domestic privacy, and no dealing with
+irrelevant topics or elaboration of those set forth with becoming
+modesty and restraint; far less is there the discussion of any subject,
+for a trivial or vain purpose. Throughout the work we meet with no
+unnecessary lifting of veils or treatment of themes merely to satisfy
+morbid curiosity. Everywhere there is the evidence of sound judgment,
+unimpeachable taste, and a wholesome sanity. This is especially the case
+in the frank revelation of the poet's views on religion and his attitude
+towards scientific and theological thought, to which we have ourselves
+referred. In this respect, a large debt is due to the biographer for
+setting before the reader, not only the high ethical purpose which
+Tennyson had in view in selecting the themes of his poems and in the
+mode of handling them, but, as we have said, in showing us what beyond
+peradventure were his religious opinions, and, despite a certain
+curtaining of gloom, how profoundly he was influenced by faith in the
+Divine life. Nor is the least interest in the Memoir to be found in the
+light the biographer throws on the poet's writings as a whole--how they
+were conceived and elaborated, and on the often hidden meaning that
+underlies some of the most thoughtful verse. This, to students of the
+Laureate's writings, is of high value, in addition to the service
+rendered by the biographer in tracing in his father's poetic work the
+influences which fashioned it and the pains he took to give it its
+marvellous beauty and artistic finish of expression.</p>
+
+<p>It is this instructive as well as skilled and dignified treatment, with
+the vast literary and deep personal interest in the life, that will
+commend the Memoir to all who are proud of the Laureate's fame, and
+wished to have nothing written that was unworthy of either the poet or
+the man, or that would in the least detract from his laurels. Nor does
+the restraint which the biographer imposes upon himself conceal from us
+the man in his human aspects, or lead him to set before the reader an
+imaginary, rather than a veritable and real, portraiture. We have a
+picture, it is true, of an almost ideal domestic life, and of a man of
+rare gifts and fine culture, whose work and career have been and are the
+pride and glory of the English-speaking race. But we have also the story
+of an author not free from human weaknesses, and though endowed with
+manifold and great gifts, yet who had to labor long and earnestly to
+perfect himself in his art, and in his early years had much
+discouragement and not a little adversity to contend with. With all the
+toil and stress his early years had known, when success came to the poet
+no one was less unspoiled by it; and when sunshine fell upon and gilded
+his life, maturing years brought him serenity, happiness, and, at
+length, peace.</p>
+
+<p>Alfred Tennyson was born at his father's rectory, Somersby,
+Lincolnshire, August 6,1809. He was the fourth of twelve children, seven
+of whom were sons, two of them, Frederick and Charles, being endowed,
+like Alfred, with poetic gifts. The poet's mother, a woman of sweet and
+tender disposition, had much to do in moulding the future Laureate's
+character; while from his father, a man of fine culture, he received not
+only much of his education, but his bent towards a recluse, bookish
+career. Alfred was from his earliest days a retired, shy child, fond of
+reading and given to rhyming, and with a characteristic love of nature
+and of quiet rural life. Later on he had a passion for the sea-coast,
+and for those scenes of storm and stress about the seagirt shores of old
+England which he was so feelingly and with such poetic beauty to depict
+in &quot;Sea Dreams,&quot; and in those incomparable songs, embodiments at once of
+sorrow and of faith, 'Break, break, break,' and 'Crossing the Bar.'
+Besides the education he received from his scholarly father, and at a
+school at Louth for four years, young Tennyson spent some years at
+Trinity College, Cambridge, where, though he did not take a degree, he
+won in 1829 the Chancellor's medal for the best English poem of the
+year, the subject of which was 'Timbuctoo.' At college he had the good
+fortune to number among his friends several men who later in life were,
+like himself, to rise to eminence,--such as Henry Alford (afterwards
+Dean of Canterbury), R.C. Trench (later Archbishop of Dublin), C.
+Merivale (historian and Dean of Ely), Monckton Milnes (Lord Houghton),
+James Spedding (editor of Lord Bacon's Works), Macaulay, Thackeray, and,
+most endeared of all, Arthur Henry Hallam, son of the historian, whose
+memory Tennyson has immortalized in &quot;In Memoriam.&quot; With him at college
+was also his brother Charles, one year his senior, with whom he
+collaborated in the collection of verse, issued in 1827, under the title
+of &quot;Poems by Two Brothers.&quot; In 1830, Tennyson made a journey to the
+Pyrenees with Arthur Hallam, who was engaged to the poet's sister
+Emilia, and in the same year he published an independent volume,
+entitled &quot;Poems chiefly Lyrical.&quot; In this, his first venture alone in
+poetry, and in another issued in 1832, Tennyson was to manifest to the
+world his poetic powers and art, for they contained, besides much
+rhythmical and contemplative verse, such poems as 'Mariana,' 'Claribel;
+'Lilian,' 'Lady Clare,' 'The Lotus Eaters,' 'A Dream of Pair Women,'
+'The May Queen,' and 'The Miller's Daughter,' In spite of the great
+promise bodied forth in these works, the volumes were subject to not a
+little unfavorable criticism, which stayed his further publishing for a
+period of ten years, though not the furtherance of his creative work,
+nor his enthusiastic efforts towards increasing the perfection of
+his art.</p>
+
+<p>It was not until 1842 that the poet again appeared in print, this time
+with a volume to which he appended his name, &quot;Poems by Alfred Tennyson,&quot;
+and which gave him high rank among the acknowledged singers of his
+day,--Wordsworth, Southey, Landor, Campbell, Rogers, and Leigh Hunt, in
+England; and in the New World, Longfellow, Bryant, Lowell, Whittier, and
+Emerson. The poet-contemporaries of his youth--Byron, Scott, Coleridge,
+Shelley, and Keats--had by this time all died, and in 1843 Southey died,
+when Wordsworth, whom Tennyson reverenced, became Poet Laureate. The
+gap occasioned by the death of these early English poets of the century
+was now to be filled in large measure by Tennyson, though among the
+writers of song to arise were the Brownings, Rossetti, Matthew Arnold,
+and Swinburne. Critical appreciation of the volume of 1842 was happily
+encouraging to the poet; indeed, it was most gratifying, for its many
+remarkable beauties were now justly and adequately appraised,
+particularly such fine new themes as the volume contained--'Ulysses,'
+'Godiva,' 'The Two Voices,' 'The Talking Oak,' 'Oenone,' 'Locksley
+Hall,' 'The Vision of Sin,' and 'Morte D'Arthur,' the germ of the future
+&quot;Idylls of the King.&quot; Nor on this side the Atlantic did the new volume
+lack substantial recognition, and from such competent critics as Emerson
+and Hawthorne; while among his English contemporaries Tennyson became,
+if we except for the time Wordsworth, the acknowledged head of English
+song. At this period the poet resided in London or its neighborhood, his
+family home in Lincolnshire having been broken up in 1837, six years
+after the death of his father. Here, in spite of the secluded life he
+led, he became a notable figure in literary circles, and greatly
+increased the range of his friends, correspondents, and admirers. Among
+the latter were the Carlyles, Thomas and his clever wife Jane being
+especially drawn to the poet, and to them we owe interesting sketches
+of the personal appearance of Tennyson at this time. Mrs. Carlyle, in
+one of her delightful letters gossiping about Dickens, Bulwer-Lytton,
+and Tennyson, esteems the latter &quot;the greatest genius of the three,&quot;
+adding that &quot;besides, he is a very handsome man, and a noble-hearted
+one, with something of the gypsy in his appearance, which for me is
+perfectly charming.&quot; This is the historian, her husband's, piece of
+portraiture: &quot;A fine, large-featured, dim-eyed, bronze-colored,
+shaggy-headed man, dusty, smoky, free-and-easy; who swims, outwardly and
+inwardly, with great composure in an articulate element as of tranquil
+chaos and tobacco smoke; great now and then when he does emerge; a most
+restful, brotherly, solid-hearted man.&quot; Another portrait we have from
+the Chelsea philosopher and scorner of shams which describes the poet
+very humanly as &quot;one of the finest-looking men in the world, with a
+great shock of rough, dusky, dark hair; bright, laughing, hazel eyes;
+massive, aquiline face, most massive, yet most delicate; of sallow-brown
+complexion, almost Indian looking; clothes cynically loose,
+free-and-easy; smokes infinite tobacco. His voice is musical, metallic,
+fit for loud laughter and piercing wail, and all that may lie between;
+speech and speculation free and plenteous. I do not meet in these late
+decades such company over a pipe! We shall see what he will grow to.&quot;
+Besides the Carlyles and other notable contemporaries, Tennyson numbered
+at this time among his intimates John Sterling, whose life was written
+by the author of &quot;Sartor Resartus,&quot; James Spedding, Bacon's editor, who
+wrote a fine critique of the 1842 volume of poems for the Edinburgh
+Review, Aubrey De Vere, Edmund Lushington, A.P. Stanley (afterwards
+Dean of Westminster), and Edward Fitzgerald, the future translator of
+the &quot;Rubaiyat,&quot; or Quatrains of the Persian Poet, Omar Khayyam. These
+were all enthusiastic admirers of Tennyson's work and art, and his close
+personal friends, who have left on record many interesting sketches of
+the poet in their published writings, or in letters to him, and
+especially in reminiscences furnished for the Memoir by the poet's son.</p>
+
+<p>Nine years before the appearance of the 1842 volume of Tennyson's verse
+the poet's bosom friend, Arthur Hallam, died at an immature age at
+Vienna, and his death was the subject of much brooding in noble, elegiac
+verse, written, as was Milton's 'Lycidas,' to commemorate the loss of
+one very dear to the poet. In &quot;In Memoriam,&quot; as all know, Tennyson
+sought to assuage his grief and give fine, artistic expression to his
+profound sorrow at the loss of his companion and friend; but the work is
+more than a labored monument of woe, since it enshrines reflections of
+the most exalted and inspiring character on the eternally momentous
+themes of life, death, and immortality. The work was published in 1850,
+and it at once challenged the admiration of the world for the perfection
+of its art, no less than for its high contemplative beauty. This was the
+year when Wordsworth passed to the grave, and Tennyson, in his room, was
+given the English laureateship. In this year, also, we find him happily
+married to Emily S. Sellwood, a lady of Berks, to whom the poet had been
+engaged since 1837. With his bride he took up house at Twickenham, near
+London, where his son, Hallam Tennyson, was born in 1852. In the
+following year he removed to Farringford, on the Isle of Wight, which
+was to be his home for forty years, and where, as his son tells us, some
+of his best-known works were written. Here, in 1854, his second son,
+Lionel, was born, whose young life of promise was terminated by jungle
+fever thirty-two years later on a return voyage from India,--all that
+was mortal of him finding repose in the depths of the Red Sea. To
+complete the chief incidents in the poet's personal career, we may here
+record that while Tennyson acquired another home at Aldworth,
+Surrey,--where he died Oct. 6, 1892, followed some four years later by
+his wife,--his happiest days were spent at Farringford, the pilgrimage
+place of many eminent worshippers of the poet's muse, where was
+dispensed an unostentatious but open-handed and genial British
+hospitality. It should be added that, besides the perquisites which
+attach to the office of the Poet Laureate, Tennyson was given from 1845
+a pension of &pound;200 ($1000) and that, while in 1865 he refused a
+baronetcy, in 1884 he accepted a peerage, and had the honor of burial
+(Oct. 12, 1892) in Westminster Abbey.</p>
+
+<p>We now revert to the poet's early, or, rather, to his middle-age,
+creative years, and to a resume of his principal writings, with a brief,
+running comment on his message and art. In 1847, three years before he
+became Laureate, he published &quot;The Princess,&quot; a charming narrative poem
+in blank verse, which, though it abounds in fine descriptions and has an
+obvious moral in the treatment of the theme,--the woman question of
+today,--is inherently lacking in unity and strength, as well as weak in
+the depicting of the characters. In later editions the poem was amended
+in several faulty respects, and was especially enriched by the insertion
+between the cantos of many lovely and now familiar songs, which serve
+not only to bind together the whole structure of the poem, but to
+enhance and enforce its high moral meaning. Any analysis of &quot;The
+Princess&quot; is here deemed unnecessary, since it must not only be familiar
+to most readers of the poet's works, but familiar also in the varied
+annotated editions of such editors as Rolfe, Woodberry, and Wilson
+Farrand. Familiar, it is believed, also, that it will be to Tennysonian
+students in the &quot;Study of the Princess,&quot; with critical and explanatory
+notes by Dr. S.E. Dawson, of Montreal (now of Ottawa, Canada),--an able
+commentary which received the approval of Lord Tennyson himself, and
+elicited from him a highly interesting letter to the author on points in
+the poem either misunderstood or not discerningly apprehended by other
+critics and reviewers. The purport of the poem, it may be said, however,
+is to frown upon revolutionary attempts to alter the position of women,
+of scholastically be-gowned and college-capped dames, who would seek by
+other than nature's ways to put the sex upon an equality with man, while
+repressing their own individuality, doing violence to their maternal
+instincts, and trampling upon their &quot;gracious household ways.&quot; In the
+handling of the &quot;medley&quot; Tennyson brings into exercise not only his
+far-seeing powers, which were greatly in advance of his time, but his
+gifts of raillery and humor, especially in the early divisions of the
+poem, as well as his high, serious motives in the moral lessons to which
+he points in the later cantos, where he aims at the elevation of women
+in correspondence with the diversity of their natures, for, as he
+himself says, &quot;Woman is not undeveloped man, but diverse.&quot; His ideal of
+perfect womanhood he would attain through the awakening power of the
+affections and the transforming power of love, rather than by ignoring
+the difference of physique, founding women's universities, and becoming
+blue-stockinged high priestesses of learning. Of the medley of
+characters in the poem, poet-princes in disguise at the college,
+violet-hooded lady principals,</p>
+
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&quot;With prudes for proctors, dowagers for deans,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And sweet girl-graduates in their golden hair,&quot;<br>
+
+<p>it is Lady Psyche's child that is the true, effective heroine of the
+story, as Dr. Dawson aptly points out. &quot;Ridiculous in the lecture room,
+the babe in the poem, as in the songs, is made the central point upon
+which the plot turns, for the unconscious child is the concrete
+embodiment of Nature herself, clearing away all merely intellectual
+theories by her silent influence.&quot; This is the explanation, then, of the
+appearance of the babe--symbol of the power and tenderness of Nature--in
+critical passages of the poem, as well as in the unsurpassably beautiful
+intercalary songs, for it is the child that enables the poet to soften
+the Princess's nature toward the Prince, and to effect the
+reconciliation between the Princess and Lady Psyche, while imparting
+beauty as well as high meaning in the recital of the incidents and
+development of the tale.</p>
+
+<p>&quot;In Memoriam,&quot; as we have stated, appeared in 1850, and was unique in
+its appeal to the mind of the era as a stately meditative poem on a
+single theme,--the death of the poet's friend, Arthur Hallam. The
+English language, if we except Milton's 'Lycidas' and 'Hymn to the
+Nativity,' and Wordsworth's grand 'Ode on Intimations of Immortality,'
+has no poem so noble or so faultless in its art as this magnificent
+series of detached elegies. The high thought, philosophic reflection,
+and passionate religious sentiment that mark the whole work, added to
+the exquisiteness of the versification, place it wellnigh supreme in the
+literature of elegiac poetry. Its grave, majestic hymnal measure adds to
+its solemn beauty and stateliness, while the varied phases of
+spiritualized thought and emotional grief which find expression in the
+poem seem to elevate it in its harmonies to the rank of a profound
+psalm-chant from the choir of heaven. In the sumptuously embellished
+edition of the elegy, embodying Mr. Harry Fenn's drawings, with a
+sympathetic preface by the Rev. Dr. Henry Van Dyke, there is a brief but
+luminous analysis of the nine divisions of the poem, or commentary on
+the great classic. To those who desire to read the great elegy
+understandingly, the value of Dr. Van Dyke's work is earnestly
+commended, since without this commentary, or such as are to be obtained
+in other critical sources, there is much of poetic beauty, of
+sorrow-brooding thought, and especially of emotional reflection on life,
+death, and immortality, in the hundred and thirty lyrics of which the
+poem consists, which will be lost to even the thoughtful reader. The
+poem, as a critic truthfully observes, has done much &quot;to express and to
+consolidate all that is best in the life of England, its domestic
+affection, its patriotic feeling, its healthful morality, its rational
+and earnest religion.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>The sentimental metrical romance &quot;Maud&quot; appeared in 1855 (the year of
+the Crimean War), with some additional poems, including 'The Charge of
+the Light Brigade,' written after Raglan's repulse of the Russians at
+Balaclava, and the fine 'Ode on the Death of the Duke of Wellington.'
+The lyrical love-drama, &quot;Maud,&quot; we are told, was one of Tennyson's
+favorite productions, of which he was wont to read parts to his guests.
+As the poet has himself said of the monodrama, &quot;it is a little Hamlet,&quot;
+&quot;the history of a morbid poetic soul, under the blighting influence of a
+recklessly speculative age. He is the heir of madness, an egotist with
+the makings of a cynic, raised to sanity by a pure and holy love which
+elevates his whole nature, passing from the heights of triumph to the
+lowest depths of misery, driven into madness by the loss of her whom he
+has loved, and when he has at length passed through the fiery furnace,
+and has recovered his reason, giving himself up to work for the good of
+mankind through the unselfishness born of his great passion.&quot; The poem,
+when it appeared, was reviled by some critics as an allegory of the war
+with Russia, and they did its author the injustice of supposing that he
+lauded war for war's sake, instead of, as is the case, applauding war
+only in defence of liberty. Apart from this misunderstanding, due to
+abhorrence of the war-frenzy of the period, the poem has outlived the
+mistaken objections to it when it appeared, and is now admired in its
+vindicated light, and especially for the rich and copious beauty
+manifest throughout the work, and for the magnificent lyric art with
+which it is composed.</p>
+
+<p>We now come to Tennyson's masterpiece, the &quot;Idylls of the King,&quot; an epic
+of chivalry, interpreted as personifying in its various characters the
+soul at war with the senses. These appeared during the years 1859 and
+1872. Each of the Idylls, which has a connecting thread binding it to
+its fellow-allegory, takes its plot or fable from the legendary lore
+that has clustered round the name of Arthur, mythical King of the
+Britons about the era of the first invasion by the English. Out of the
+mass of material which was gathered by Sir Thomas Malory for his prose
+history of Arthur and his Knights, Tennyson takes the chief incidents
+and noblest heroic traits of character in the legends and blends them in
+a fashion of his own, steeping them in an atmosphere which his
+imagination creates, and lighting up all with a passion and glory of
+knightly adventure, as well as with a chasteness, purity, and high
+fervor of ethical thought, that must perpetuate the romance, as he has
+given it us, unto all time. The sections of the work as it now stands,
+in addition to its introductory dedication to the late Prince Consort,
+and the closing poem to the late Queen Victoria, are as follows: 'The
+Coming of Arthur,' which relates the mystery of the birth of the King,
+his marriage to Guinevere, daughter of Leodogran, King of Cameliard, and
+the wonders attending his crowning and establishment on the throne; next
+comes 'Gareth and Lynette,' a tale of love and scorn, and of the
+conflict between a false pride and a true ambition; to this is appended
+'The Marriage of Geraint,' of Arthur's court, and a member of the great
+order of the Round Table. Next follows 'Geraint and Enid,'--Enid, the
+gentle and timid, whom Geraint had married after wooing the haughty
+Lynette,--a tale of pure and loyal womanhood, darkened for awhile by the
+clouds of jealousy and suspicion, yet closing happily long after the
+&quot;spiteful whispers&quot; had died down, and Geraint, assured of Enid's
+fealty, had ruled his kingdom well and gone forth to &quot;crown a happy life
+with a fair death&quot; against the heathen of the Northern Sea, &quot;fighting
+for the blameless King.&quot; The next Idyll relates how the venerable
+magician Merlin succumbs to the thrall of the wily harlot Vivien, decked
+in her rare robe of samite, and yields to her the charm which was his
+secret. 'Lancelot and Elaine' follows with its conflict between the
+virgin innocence of Elaine, the lily maid of Astolat, and the guilty
+passion of the noble though erring Lancelot. To this, in order, succeeds
+'The Holy Grail,' telling of the vain quest of Arthur's Knights for the
+sacred relic. Despite its mystic character, this is admittedly one of
+the finest of the series of Idylls, and rich in its spiritual
+teaching,--that the heavenly vision is to be seen only by the eyes of
+purity and grace. 'Pelleas and Ettarre' is a tale of dole, showing the
+evil at work at the court, and the wrecking effect of another woman's
+perfidy. 'The Last Tournament' has for its hero the court fool, who,
+amid the treason of Arthur's knights, is firm in his loyal allegiance to
+the King. In contrast to him is Sir Tristram, who, despite his prowess,
+in jousts on the tilting-field, is &quot;one to whom faith is foolishness,
+and the higher life an idle delusion.&quot; The climax is reached in
+'Guinevere,' whom, in spite of her faithlessness and guilty intrigue
+with Lancelot, Arthur, with his great high soul, pityingly loves and
+forgives. The end comes with the sad though shadowy 'Passing of Arthur,'
+the royal barge mysteriously carrying him out into the beyond, whence
+issue sounds of hail and greeting to the victor-hero</p>
+
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&quot;----as if some fair city were one voice<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Around a king returning from his wars.&quot;<br>
+
+<p>In 1864 Tennyson published &quot;Enoch Arden,&quot; an idyll of the hearth,
+depicting a pathetic incident in a seafarer's career, of much simple
+idyllic beauty. The poem has some fine descriptive passages, and many
+examples of the poet's rich word-painting in treating of the splendid
+tropic scenery among which the mariner is for the time cast. The volume
+contained also some minor pieces, including the dialect poem, 'The
+Northern Farmer,' with its humorous rendering of yokel speech. This was
+followed (1875-84) by three dramas on English historical themes, which,
+as the poet had not, as we have already hinted, the gifts of a
+Shakespeare, were somewhat unsuccessful, though written, despite
+Tennyson's advanced years, with much fine force and vividness of
+character delineation. These dramas (to enumerate them in their historic
+order) were &quot;Harold,&quot; &quot;Becket,&quot; and &quot;Queen Mary.&quot; &quot;Becket&quot; is the best
+and most ambitious of them, though not, as &quot;Queen Mary&quot; is, a play
+designed for the stage. It is a vigorous Englishman's closet study of a
+prolonged and bitter struggle--the conflict in Henry II.'s time between
+the church and the crown--as exhibited in the person and dominant
+ecclesiastical attitude of the audacious prelate who met his tragic end
+by Canterbury's altar. &quot;Harold&quot; strikingly realizes to the modern reader
+the stirring activities of a strenuous time,--that of the English
+conquest by Norman William, opposed to the death by Harold at Senlac in
+1066. The drama is as rich in character as it is swift and energetic in
+action. &quot;Queen Mary&quot; deals with the religious and political dissensions
+(the struggle between the Papacy and the Reformation) of Mary Tudor's
+era, with her love for and marriage with Philip of Spain, and her
+hopeless yearning for an heir to the double crown of England and Spain.
+An important and prized addition to our English literature the drama
+undoubtedly is, but it is not more than a careful, accurate, and
+elaborate historical study. It lacks, both in spirit and movement, the
+characteristics of the Shakespearian drama. Its characters, however, are
+vividly brought out, and its situations are often picturesque and
+telling. The personages, moreover, are wanting in the play of creative
+effect, and the incidents lack the stir of inventive resource. Further,
+though the story of Mary's life is essentially dramatic, and the
+incidents of her reign are tragic in the extreme, the poet does not seem
+to have extracted from either that which goes to the making of a great
+drama. This evidently is the result of following too faithfully the
+events of history and the records of the time, as well as, in some
+degree, from want of sympathy, which Tennyson could not impart, with the
+leading characters and their actions. Still, much is made of the
+materials; and though the personages and incidents appear in the
+narrative in the neutral tints of history, yet the period is made to
+reappear with a freshness and distinctness which, while it satisfies the
+scholar, gives a true charm to every lover of the drama. Again and
+again, as we read, are we reminded of the Laureate's rare poetical fancy
+and fine literary instinct, and the dialogues contain many passages of
+striking thought and noble utterance. But the work is overcast by the
+great gloom of its central figure,--the gloom of bigotry, passion,
+jealousy, disappointment, and despair which ever environs the miserable
+Queen; and much though the poet has striven to brighten the picture and
+awaken sympathy for the weakness of the woman, who, royal mistress
+though she was, could not command her love to be requited, the poetic
+measure of his lines roughens and hardens to the close, when the curtain
+falls on what is felt to be a tragic and unlovely life.</p>
+
+<p>We can only briefly refer to the other <i>dramatis personae</i> introduced to
+us, who are among the notable historical characters that figure during
+Mary Tudor's reign. They are those who take part in the incidents,
+religious, civil, and political, of the period, and are, for the most
+part, both in speech and bearing, the portraits familiar to us in Mr.
+Froude's history. Of these the most pleasing is the Princess Elizabeth,
+whose portrait is drawn with masterly skill, and engages our interest as
+the fortunes of its original oscillates &quot;'Twixt Axe and Crown&quot;:--</p>
+
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; &quot;A Tudor<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Schooled by the shadow of death, a Boleyn too<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Glancing across the Tudor.&quot;<br>
+
+<p>But, aside from the interest in the safety of her person, which is in
+constant jeopardy from the jealousy of her half-sister, Elizabeth wins
+upon the reader by her modest, maidenly bearing, her frankness of
+manner, and by a playfulness of disposition which readily adapts itself
+to the restraints which the Queen is ever placing upon her person, and
+which endears her to the people, who, could the hated Mary be got rid
+of, would fain become her subjects. The civil strife of the period
+furnishes material for some powerful passages, which are wrought up with
+excellent effect, and in this connection Sir Thomas Wyatt, Sir Thomas
+Stafford, the Earl of Devon, Sir William Cecil, and other historical
+personages appear upon the stage. The other incidents introduced are
+those which attach themselves to the religious persecutions of the time,
+and which brought Cranmer to the stake, and give play to the papal
+intrigues of Pole, Gardiner, and the emissaries of the Spanish court.
+The second and third scenes in the fourth act devoted to Cranmer, which
+detail his martyrdom, are hardly so satisfactory as we think they might
+have been, though the poet here again follows closely the historical
+accounts. The scenes, however, give occasion for the introduction of a
+couple of local gossips whose provincial dialect and keen interest in
+the national and religious policy of the time, here as in occasional
+street scenes, are cleverly portrayed. This sapient reflection in the
+mouth of one of these gossips, Tib, is a specimen at hand:--</p>
+
+<p>&quot;A-burnin' and a-burnin', and a-making o' volk madder and madder; but
+tek thou my word vor't, Joan,--and I bean't wrong not twice i' ten
+year,--the burnin' o' the owld archbishop 'ill burn the Pwoap out o'
+this 'ere land for iver and iver.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Philip we have not spoken of; but he fills such a hateful niche in the
+historical gallery of the time, and the poet introduces him but to act
+his pitiful role, that we pass him by, though many of the grandest
+passages in the drama are those which give expression to Mary's
+passionate love for him, and her longing desire for an issue of their
+marriage, which afterwards culminates in her madness and death.</p>
+
+<p>We have to speak of but one other character in the drama, whose death,
+it has been said, was sufficient to honor and to dishonor an age. The
+beautiful Lady Jane Grey appears for a little among the shadows of the
+poem, and moves to her tragic fate.</p>
+
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&quot;Seventeen,--a rose of grace!<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Girl never breathed to rival such a rose!<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Rose never blew that equalled such a bud.&quot;<br>
+
+<p>A few songs of genuine Tennysonian harmony, pitched in the keys that
+most fittingly suit the singer's mood, are interspersed through the
+drama, and serve to relieve the narratives of their gloom and plaint.
+Their presence, we cannot help thinking, recalls work better done, and
+more within the limitations of the poet's genius, than this drama of
+&quot;Queen Mary.&quot; As a dramatic representation the drama had the advantage
+of being produced at the Lyceum Theatre, London, with all the historic
+art and sumptuous stage-setting with which Sir Henry Irving could well
+give it,--Irving himself personating Philip, while Miss Bateman took the
+part of Queen Mary. &quot;Becket,&quot; we should here add, was also given on the
+stage, and with much dramatic effectiveness, by Irving,--over fifty
+performances of it being called for. None of the dramas, however, as we
+have said, was a success, though each has its merit, while all are
+distinguished by many passages of noble and strenuous thought.</p>
+
+<p>Other dramatic compositions the poet attempted, though of minor
+importance to the trilogy just spoken of. These were &quot;The Falcon,&quot; the
+groundwork of which is to be found in &quot;The Decameron;&quot; &quot;The Cup,&quot; a
+tragedy, rich in action, with an incisive dialogue, borrowed from
+Plutarch. The former was staged by Mr. and Mrs. Kendal, and had a run of
+sixty-seven nights; the latter also was staged with liberal
+magnificence, by Irving, and met with considerable success. &quot;The Promise
+of May&quot; is another play which was staged, in 1882, by Mrs. Bernard
+Beere, but met with failure by the critics, owing, in some degree, to
+its supposed caricature of modern agnostics, and to the repellent
+portrayal of one of the characters in the piece, the sensualist, Philip
+Edgar. Later, in (1892) appeared &quot;The Foresters,&quot; a pretty pastoral
+play, on the theme of Robin Hood and Maid Marian, which was produced on
+the boards in New York by Mr. Daly and his company, with a charming
+woodland setting. The later publications of the Laureate, in his own
+distinctive field of verse, embrace &quot;The Lover's Tale&quot; (1879), &quot;Ballads
+and other Poems&quot; (1880), &quot;Tiresias and Other Poems&quot; (1885), &quot;Locksley
+Hall Sixty Years After&quot; (1886), &quot;Demeter and Other Poems&quot; (1889), and
+&quot;The Death of Oenone, Akbar's Dream, and Other Poems,&quot; in the year of
+the Poet's death (1892). In these various volumes there is much
+admirable work and many tuneful lyrics in the old charming, lilting
+strain, with not a few serious, thoughtful, stately pieces of verse,
+&quot;the after-glow,&quot; as Stedman phrases it, &quot;of a still radiant genius....
+His after-song,&quot; continues this fine critic, &quot;does not wreak itself upon
+the master passions of love and ambition, and hence fastens less
+strongly on the thoughts of the young; nor does it come with the unused
+rhythm, the fresh and novel cadence, that stamped the now hackneyed
+measure with a lyric's name. Yet, as to its art and imagery, the same
+effects are there, differing only in a more vigorous method, an
+intentional roughness, from the individual early verse. The new burthen
+is termed pessimistic, but for all its impatient summary of ills, it
+ends with a cry of faith.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>We must now hasten to a close, delightful as it would be to linger over
+so attractive a theme, and to dwell upon the personality of one who so
+uniquely represents the mind, as he has so remarkably influenced the
+thought, of his age. But considering the length of the present paper,
+this cannot be. Happily, however, the fruitage is ever with us of the
+poet's full fourscore years of splendid achievement with the hallowing
+memory of a forceful, opulent, and blameless life. To few men of the
+past century can the reflecting mind of a coming time more interestingly
+or more instructively turn than to this profound thinker and mighty
+musical singer, steeped as he was in the varied culture of the ages,
+endowed with great prophetic powers, with phenomenal gifts of poetic
+expression, and with a soul so attuned to the harmonies of heaven as to
+make him at once the counsellor and the inspiring teacher of his time.
+Who, in comparison with him, has so felt the subtle charm, or so
+interpreted to us the infinite beauty, of the world in which we live, or
+more impressively deepened in the mind and conscience of the age belief
+in the verities of religion, while quelling its doubts and quickening
+its highest hopes and faith? &quot;Tennyson was a passionate believer in the
+immortal life; this was so real to him that he had no patience with
+scepticism on the subject. To question it in his presence was to bring
+upon one's head a torrent of denunciation and wrath. His great soul was
+intuitively conscious of spiritual realities, and he could not
+understand how little soulless microbes of men and women were destitute
+of his deep perception. Prayer was to him a living fact and power, and
+some of his words about it are among the noblest ever written. When some
+one asked him about Christ, he pointed to a flower and said, 'What the
+sun is to that flower, Christ is to my soul.'&quot;</p>
+
+<p>Apart as he stood from the tumult and the frivolities of his age, he was
+yet of it, and sensibly and beneficently influenced it for its higher
+and nobler weal. In politics, as we know, he was a liberal
+conservative,--a conserver of what was best in the present and the past,
+and an advancer of all that tended to true and harmonious progress. His
+knowledge of men and things was wide and deep; in the philosophic
+thought and even in the science of his time he was deeply read; while he
+was lovingly interested in all nature, and especially in the common
+people, whom he often wrote of and touchingly depicted in their humble
+ways of toil as well as of joy and sorrow. Above all, he was a man of
+high and real faith, who believed that &quot;good&quot; was &quot;the final goal of
+ill;&quot; and in &quot;the dumb hour clothed in black&quot; that at last came to him,
+as it comes to all, he confidingly put his trust in Loving Omnipotence
+and reverently and beautifully expressed the hope of seeing the guiding
+Pilot of his life when, with the outflow of its river-current into the
+ocean of the Divine Unseen, he crossed the bar. For humanity's sake and
+the weal of the world in a coming time this was his joyous cry:--</p>
+
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; &quot;Ring in the nobler modes of life,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;With sweeter manners, purer laws.<br>
+
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*<br>
+
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&quot;Ring in the love of truth and right,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Ring in the common love of good.<br>
+
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*<br>
+
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&quot;Ring in the valiant man and free,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The larger heart, the kindlier hand;<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Ring out the darkness of the land,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Ring in the Christ that is to be!&quot;<br>
+
+<p>What our formative, high-wrought English literature has suffered in
+Tennyson's passing from the age on which he has shed so much glory those
+can best say who are of his era, and have been intimate, as each
+appeared, with every successive issue of his works. To the latter, as to
+all thoughtful students of his writings, his has been the supreme
+interpreting voice of the past century, while his influence on the
+literary thought of his time has been of the highest and most potent
+kind. Especially influential has Tennyson been in carrying forward, with
+new impulses and inspiration, the poetic traditions of that grand old
+motherland of English song to which our own poets in the New World, as
+well as the younger bards of the British Isles, owe so much. If we
+except the Laureate, there have been few who have worn the singing robe
+of the poet who, in these later years at least, have spoken so
+impressively to cultured minds on either side of the ocean, or have more
+effectively expressed to his age the high and hallowing spirit of modern
+poetry. It is this that has given the Laureate his exalted place among
+the great literary influences of the century, and made him the one
+indubitable representative of English song, with all its tuneful music
+and rare and delicate art. To a few of the great choir of singers of the
+past Tennyson admittedly owed something, both in tradition and in
+art,--for each new impulse has caught and embodied not a little of the
+spirit and temper, as well as the culture and inspiration, of the
+old,--but his it was to impart new and fresher thought and a wider range
+of harmony and emotion than had been reached by almost any of his
+predecessors, and to speak to the mind and soul of his time as none
+other has spoken or could well speak. From the era of Shakespeare and
+Milton and their chief successors, it is to Tennyson's honor and fame
+that he has given continuity as well as high perfection to the great
+coursing stream of noble British verse.</p>
+
+<p>AUTHORITIES.</p>
+
+<p>Brooke, Stopford A. Tennyson: his Art and Relation to Modern Life.</p>
+
+<p>Van Dyke, Henry. The Poetry of Tennyson.
+Bayne, Peter. Tennyson and his Teachers.
+Brimley, George. Essays on Tennyson.
+Tainsh, Ed. C. Study of the Works of Tennyson.
+Waugh, Arthur. Tennyson: A Study of his Life and Work.
+Stedman, E. C. Victorian Poets.
+Buchanan, R. Master Spirits.
+Forman. Our Living Poets.
+Dowden, Ed. Tennyson and Browning.
+Tennyson, Hallam. Memoir of the Poet (by his Son).
+Kingsley, C. Miscellanies.</p>
+
+<p>Thackeray-Ritchie, Anne. Records of Tennyson and Others.
+Robertson, F. W. In Memoriam.
+Dawson, Dr. S. E. Study of the Princess, annotated.
+Genung, J. F. In Memoriam, its Purpose and Structure.
+Woodberry, G. E. The Princess, with Notes and Introduction.
+Farrand, Wilson. The Princess, with Notes and Introduction.
+Gatty, Alfred. Key to In Memoriam.
+Harrison, Frederic. Tennyson, Ruskin, and Mill.</p>
+<br><br>
+<hr class="full">
+<pre>
+
+
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