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diff --git a/36274-h/36274-h.htm b/36274-h/36274-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d5e983d --- /dev/null +++ b/36274-h/36274-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,11191 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=ISO-8859-1" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Age of Tennyson, by Hugh Walker</title> + <style type="text/css"> + + p {margin-top: .75em; text-align: justify; margin-bottom: .75em;} + + body {margin-left: 12%; margin-right: 12%;} + + .pagenum {position: absolute; left: 92%; font-size: smaller; text-align: right; font-style: normal;} + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 {text-align: center; clear: both;} + + hr {width: 33%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; clear: both;} + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + .giant {font-size: 200%} + .huge {font-size: 150%} + .large {font-size: 125%} + + .poem {margin-left:15%;} + .index {margin-left: 20%;} + + .right {text-align: right;} + .center {text-align: center;} + + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + .smcaplc {text-transform: lowercase; font-variant: small-caps;} + + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + + a:link {color:#0000ff; text-decoration:none} + a:visited {color:#6633cc; text-decoration:none} + + .spacer {padding-left: 1em; padding-right: 1em;} + + .verts {margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%;} + .vertsbox {margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; border: solid 2px; padding-left: 1em; padding-right: 1em;} + + .hang {margin-left: 2em; text-indent: -2em;} + + .sidenote {width: 5em; font-size: smaller; color: black; background-color: #ffffff; position: absolute; left: 1em; text-align: center;} + + .u {text-decoration: underline;} + + hr.full { width: 100%; + margin-top: 3em; + margin-bottom: 0em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + height: 4px; + border-width: 4px 0 0 0; /* remove all borders except the top one */ + border-style: solid; + border-color: #000000; + clear: both; } + pre {font-size: 85%;} + </style> +</head> +<body> +<h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Age of Tennyson, by Hugh Walker</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 = "http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre> +<p>Title: The Age of Tennyson</p> +<p>Author: Hugh Walker</p> +<p>Release Date: May 29, 2011 [eBook #36274]</p> +<p>Language: English</p> +<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p> +<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE AGE OF TENNYSON***</p> +<p> </p> +<h4>E-text prepared by the Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br /> + (<a href="http://www.pgdp.net">http://www.pgdp.net</a>)<br /> + from page images generously made available by<br /> + Internet Archive<br /> + (<a href="http://www.archive.org">http://www.archive.org</a>)</h4> +<p> </p> +<table border="0" style="background-color: #ccccff;margin: 0 auto;" cellpadding="10"> + <tr> + <td valign="top"> + Note: + </td> + <td> + Images of the original pages are available through + Internet Archive. See + <a href="http://www.archive.org/details/ageoftennyson00walkiala"> + http://www.archive.org/details/ageoftennyson00walkiala</a> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<div class="vertsbox"> +<p class="center"><span class="huge">HANDBOOKS OF ENGLISH LITERATURE.</span></p> +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Edited by Professor Hales.</span></p> +<p class="center"><i>Crown 8vo, 5s. net each.</i></p> + +<p class="hang">THE AGE OF ALFRED (664-1154). By <span class="smcap">F. J. Snell</span>, M.A.</p> + +<p class="hang">THE AGE OF CHAUCER (1346-1400). By <span class="smcap">F. J. Snell</span>, M.A. With an Introduction +by Professor <span class="smcap">Hales</span>. <i>3rd Edition, revised.</i></p> + +<p class="hang">THE AGE OF TRANSITION (1400-1579). By <span class="smcap">F. J. Snell</span>, M.A. 2 vols. Vol. I. +The Poets. Vol. II. The Dramatists and Prose Writers. With an Introduction +by Professor <span class="smcap">Hales</span>. <i>3rd Edition.</i></p> + +<p class="hang">THE AGE OF SHAKESPEARE (1579-1631). By <span class="smcap">Thomas Seccombe</span> and <span class="smcap">J. W. Allen</span> +With an Introduction by Professor <span class="smcap">Hales</span>. 2 vols. Vol. I. Poetry and Prose. +Vol. II. The Drama. <i>8th Edition, revised.</i></p> + +<p class="hang">THE AGE OF MILTON (1632-1660). By the Rev. Canon <span class="smcap">J. H. B. Masterman</span>, M.A. +With Introduction, etc., by <span class="smcap">J. Bass Mullinger</span>, M.A. <i>8th Edition.</i></p> + +<p class="hang">THE AGE OF DRYDEN (1660-1700). By <span class="smcap">R. Garnett</span>, C.B., LL.D. <i>8th Edition.</i></p> + +<p class="hang">THE AGE OF POPE (1700-1748). By <span class="smcap">John Dennis</span>. <i>10th Edition.</i></p> + +<p class="hang">THE AGE OF JOHNSON (1748-1798). By <span class="smcap">Thomas Seccombe</span>. <i>7th Edition, +revised.</i></p> + +<p class="hang">THE AGE OF WORDSWORTH (1798-1832). By Professor <span class="smcap">C. H. Herford</span>, Litt.D. +<i>12th Edition.</i></p> + +<p class="hang">THE AGE OF TENNYSON (1830-1870). By Professor <span class="smcap">Hugh Walker</span>. <i>9th Edition.</i></p> + +<p class="center">LONDON: G. BELL AND SONS, LTD.<br />PORTUGAL STREET, KINGSWAY, W.C.2.</p></div> + + +<p> </p><p> </p><p> </p> +<p class="center"><span class="huge">HANDBOOKS</span></p> +<p class="center">OF</p> +<p class="center"><span class="huge">ENGLISH LITERATURE</span></p> +<p class="center">EDITED BY PROFESSOR HALES</p> +<p> </p><p class="center"><span class="large">THE AGE OF TENNYSON</span></p> + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td><small>LONDON: G. BELL AND SONS, LTD.<br /> +PORTUGAL STREET, KINGSWAY, W.C.<br /> +CAMBRIDGE: DEIGHTON, BELL & CO.<br /> +NEW YORK: HARCOURT BRACE & HOWE<br /> +BOMBAY: A. H. WHEELER AND CO.</small></td></tr></table> + + +<p> </p><p> </p><p> </p> +<p class="center"><span class="large">THE</span></p> +<p class="center"><span class="giant">AGE OF TENNYSON</span></p> +<p> </p> +<p class="center">BY</p> +<p class="center"><span class="large">HUGH WALKER, M.A.</span><br /> +<small>PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH LITERATURE AT ST. DAVID’S COLLEGE<br />LAMPETER</small></p> +<p> </p> +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/title_bells.jpg" alt="" /></div> +<p> </p> +<p class="center">LONDON<br />G. BELL AND SONS, LTD.<br />1921</p> + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>First Published, September, 1897.<br /> +Reprinted, December, 1897; 1900, 1904, 1908, 1909, 1921.</td></tr></table> + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[Pg v]</a></span></p> +<h2>PREFACE.</h2> + +<p>The age of Tennyson is defined, for the purpose of the present volume, as +extending from 1830 to 1870. The date selected as the beginning of the +period needs no explanation; but perhaps the question may be asked why the +age of Tennyson should be supposed to end more than twenty years before +Tennyson died. The answer is twofold. First, I may plead the strong law of +necessity. Sixty years, among the most fertile and varied in our literary +history, could be compressed within the limits of a volume like the +present only by completely changing the scale of treatment; and this again +would have put it out of harmony with the other volumes of the series. +But, secondly, about the year 1870 or before it there took place a change +in the <i>personnel</i> of literature, less complete perhaps than that which +marked the beginning of the epoch, but still sufficiently remarkable. +Among the historians, Macaulay was dead and Carlyle had done his work. +Among the novelists, Dickens died in 1870, Thackeray seven years before, +and Charlotte Brontë still earlier; while, though George Eliot survived +till 1880, the only great work of hers which lies beyond the limits of the +period is <i>Middlemarch</i>. Mill, who had been so long the dominant power in +philosophy, died in 1873. The poets, Tennyson, Browning, Matthew Arnold +and Rossetti, survived. In poetry however Arnold’s voice was by this time<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">[Pg vi]</a></span> +almost dumb. Browning continued to produce copiously; but after <i>The Ring +and the Book</i> his style changed, and changed decidedly for the worse. +Tennyson changed too, but in his case there was some gain to balance what +was lost. The best of the younger poets, like William Morris and +Swinburne, clearly show the influence of new ideals. The old order was +changing, and new ambitions were beginning to sway men’s minds. In short, +if by the age of Tennyson we mean the period during which the influences +which formed Tennyson and his contemporaries were dominant, we find that +it came to an end long before Tennyson’s life closed.</p> + +<p>Tennyson and Browning, Arnold and Ruskin, therefore, have to be treated as +survivors into a new period. But it is obviously undesirable to split a +man’s work in two; and consequently, though my period ends at 1870, I have +included a sketch of the later work of these men as well. I have very +rarely treated only a part of a man’s work. I have preferred to leave +wholly to my successor those writers who, though they had begun to write +before 1870, seem on the whole to belong rather to the period still +current.</p> + +<p>In the plan of this book I have tried to follow out as faithfully as +possible the general idea of the series to which it belongs; and thus I +have been led rather to emphasise the thought of the greater men than to +concern myself about including notices of a great number of minor writers. +In a period so prolific it has therefore been necessary to enforce a +somewhat rigid law of exclusion. The law has been made especially rigid in +the case of fiction; because there is nothing that bears the test of time +so ill as bad or mediocre fiction.</p> + +<p>Variety is, after copiousness, the most striking feature of the period +under review; and this variety somewhat<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[Pg vii]</a></span> obscures the operation of ruling +principles and ideas. I have taken as my guide the conviction that the key +to the period is to be found in its search for truth and its resolve to +understand. We see this everywhere, in the development of science, in the +inquiry into the causes of the growth and decay of nations, in the +intellectual quality of the best poetry, in the analytical psychology of +so much prose fiction. It is the reaction against the extreme romanticism +of the revolutionary period. The writers of the Revolution sought to grasp +truth by an act of faith. In the Victorian period emotion plays a less and +logic a greater part. Or we may describe the change as a partial reversion +to the spirit of the eighteenth century. The imaginative glamour of the +romantic movement is not lost, but there is conjoined with it a juster +appreciation of the clearness and precision and the logical coherency of +the age of Pope. Next to the eighteenth century the age of Tennyson has +been the most critical in our literature.</p> + +<p>I owe thanks to Professor Hales for his uniform courtesy and kindness in +reading and considering my proofs, and for many valuable and helpful +suggestions.</p> + +<p><br />H. W.</p> + +<p><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><span class="smcap">Lampeter</span>,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>July, 1897</i>.</span></p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[Pg viii]</a></span></p> + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[Pg ix]</a></span></p> +<h2>CONTENTS.</h2> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right"><small>PAGE</small></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Introduction</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Depression after the Napoleonic struggle—Social problems—Spread of democracy—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Popular education—Rise of periodical literature—Physical science—Tractarianism—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Pre-Raphaelitism.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_I">Chapter I.</a> Thomas Carlyle</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_12">12</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_II">Chapter II.</a> Poetry from 1830 to 1850. The Greater Poets: Tennyson and Browning</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_36">36</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Introduction—Tennyson’s first period—Browning’s first period</span></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_III">Chapter III.</a> The Minor Poets, 1830 to 1850</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_52">52</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Mrs. Hemans and L. E. Landon—Charles Tennyson Turner—Thomas Hood—Laman</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Blanchard—Praed—Lord Houghton—R. H. Barham—Hartley Coleridge—Sara</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Coleridge—William Motherwell—Henry Taylor—Philip James Bailey—R. H. Horne—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">William Barnes—Mangan—Whitehead—Wade—Ebenezer Jones.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">Chapter IV.</a> The Earlier Fiction</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_68">68</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Introduction—Maginn—Lord Lytton—Disraeli—Ainsworth—G. P. R. James—Marryat—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Michael Scott—Warren.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_V">Chapter V.</a> Fiction: The Intermediate Period</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_82">82</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Dickens—Thackeray—The Brontës—Mrs. Gaskell.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">Chapter VI.</a> The Historians and Biographers</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_109">109</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Introduction—Macaulay—Thomas Arnold—Thirlwall—Grote —Milman—Finlay—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Neale—Merivale—Froude—Kinglake —Buckle—Maine—Lockhart—Stanley—Minor</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Historians and Biographers.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_x" id="Page_x">[Pg x]</a></span></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">Chapter VII.</a> Theology and Philosophy</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_144">144</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Keble—Newman—Pusey—Wilberforce—Maurice—F. W. Robertson—Mark Pattison—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Jowett—Mill—N. W. Senior—J. E. Cairnes—Whewell—Sir W. Hamilton—Ferrier—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Mansel—Harriet Martineau—G. H. Lewes—Sir G. Cornewall Lewis—Herbert Spencer.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">Chapter VIII.</a> Science</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_175">175</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Introduction—Lyell—Hugh Miller—Robert Chambers—Darwin—A. R. Wallace.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">Chapter IX.</a> Criticism, Scholarship, and Miscellaneous Prose</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_191">191</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Introduction—J. P. Collier—Mrs. Jameson—J. O. Halliwell-Phillipps—Helps—Ruskin—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Matthew Arnold—Dr. John Brown—Rands—George Borrow.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_X">Chapter X.</a> Poetry From 1850 To 1870: the Intellectual Movement</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_213">213</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Introduction—Matthew Arnold—Clough—Tennyson—Robert Browning—E. B.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Browning—Edward FitzGerald.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">Chapter XI.</a> Poetry From 1850 To 1870: the Pre-Raphaelites; The Spasmodic School; </span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;"><span class="smcap">Minor Poets</span></span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_240">240</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span style="margin-left: 2em;">D. G. Rossetti—Christina Rossetti—W. E. Aytoun—Dobell—Alexander Smith—Coventry</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Patmore—‘Owen Meredith’—Lord de Tabley—William Morris—Minor Poets.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">Chapter XII.</a> The Later Fiction</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_262">262</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Introduction—George Eliot—Mrs. Henry Wood—D. M. Craik—Charles Kingsley—Anthony</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Trollope—James Grant—Whyte-Melville—Wilkie Collins—G. A. Lawrence—Charles Reade—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Conclusion.</span></td></tr> + + +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Chronological Table</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_279">279</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Alphabetical List of Writers</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_289">289</a></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Index</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_295">295</a></td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> +<p class="center"><span class="giant">THE AGE OF TENNYSON.</span></p> +<p> </p> +<h2>INTRODUCTION.</h2> + +<p>The epoch of literature which opened about the year 1830 is perhaps best +described, in the first place, by negatives. It is distinguished from the +previous period, when the spirit which gave rise to the French Revolution +was dominant, by the absence of certain characteristics then conspicuous. +First and chiefly, it is distinguished by the failure of the hopes which +at once produced and were produced by the Revolution. On the border-land +between the two centuries literature was marked by buoyant and often +extravagant expectation. Even pessimists like Byron were somewhat +superficial in their pessimism. Byron looked upon the evils from which he +and others suffered as due largely to the perversity of society. But this +perversity might be cured, and if it were cured an earthly Elysium seemed +a thing not wholly unreasonable to expect. To all who were animated by the +spirit of Rousseau the problem, how to secure happiness, appeared almost +identical with the comparatively simple one, how to remove obstructions. +Nature unimpeded was perfect: it was the vain imaginings and evil +contrivances of man that did the mischief. There were not wanting, even in +the Revolutionary period, men who thought more deeply and who saw more +clearly. The speculations of Malthus, destined afterwards, both directly,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span> +and still more through the impulse they gave to Darwin, to prove among the +most influential of the century, showed that some, at least, of the roots +of evil reached far deeper than the orthodox Revolutionists and +speculators of the type of Godwin had imagined. The exhaustion of Europe +after the great struggle with Napoleon brought dimly home to multitudes +who knew nothing about and cared nothing for abstruse speculation a sense +of the difficulty and complexity of social problems. Exaggerated +expectations bring their own Nemesis in the shape of proportionate +depression and gloom; and the men of the new era set themselves somewhat +wearily and with little elasticity of spirit to climb the toilsome steep +of progress. The way seemed all the rougher because they had hoped to win +the summit by a rush. Failure left them in the mood of Cleopatra on the +death of Antony,—</p> + +<p class="poem"><span style="margin-left: 4em;">‘There is nothing left remarkable</span><br /> +Beneath the visiting moon.’</p> + +<p>Hence in the beginning of the period there is on the part of all but the +greatest a tendency to trifle. Sometimes even the greatest are not quite +free from it; and in the early poetry of Tennyson we may detect evidence +that the writer was as yet unmoved by any great interest.</p> + +<p>But, though it was not clear at the moment, sixty years of subsequent +history make it manifest that the generation then beginning had great work +to do. In the first place, it had to work out, not the ideal of the +Revolution as conceived by the Revolutionists, but that in it which was +vital, and which had given it the power to move Europe. Modern democracy, +though its roots stretch farther into the past, has been, as a realised +political system, the work of the Age of Tennyson. The process whereby +democracy has become dominant in the West of Europe has been marked<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span> by no +great political convulsion comparable to the French Revolution. Even on +the Continent the movement which in 1848 shook so many thrones was +trifling in comparison with it; and in England the agitations of the +Reform Bill, of the Anti-Corn Law League, and even of the Chartists, +either kept within the limits of the law or merely rippled the surface of +social order. Nevertheless, the work done has been momentous. At the +opening of the period we see political power placed by the first Reform +Bill in the hands of the middle class; at its close, this power is by the +operation of the second Reform Bill, logically completed by the third, +transferred to the working class. If we believe at all in the influence of +social circumstances upon literature, we must believe that great changes +such as these have left their stamp upon it; and there is ample evidence +that they have done so. Though Carlyle had little faith in popular +government, his writings are everywhere influenced by the democratic +movement. John Stuart Mill’s works, and the whole literature of sociology, +indicate how pressing the problem of the structure of society has been +felt to be. Hood’s <i>Song of the Shirt</i>, Mrs. Browning’s <i>Cry of the +Children</i>, Ebenezer Elliott’s <i>Corn Law Rhymes</i> and Kingsley’s <i>Alton +Locke</i>, are a few examples of the way in which the social, political and +economic condition of the poor pressed upon the imaginative writers of the +time. Others in earlier days had been interested too. No reader of the +<i>Canterbury Tales</i> can doubt that Chaucer was keenly alive to the state of +all the grades of society. Shakespeare by a few vivid words in <i>King Lear</i> +proves himself a humanitarian before humanitarianism became fashionable. +Crabbe was the stern, and perhaps, after all, only half-truthful painter +of humble life in the generation which had just closed. Burns gave to the +peasant a citizenship in literature more sure than that conferred by +Crabbe,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span> because he knew from personal experience that the life hardest +pressed by poverty need not be wholly sordid. The interest is not new, but +it has become more universal and has grown in importance, and the +proportion it bears to other things is changed. The political revolution +brought this in its train. He who possesses power is sure of consideration +and respect; and the classes which, to the Elizabethans, were the ‘rascal +multitude,’ have for sixty years been struggling towards mastership, and +have at last attained it.</p> + +<p>Among other results incident to this process, there has been a great +change in the character of the audience appealed to by literature. That +audience is now far wider than it ever before was. The spread of education +through all classes has vastly increased the number of those who must and +will read something. It was not till the year 1870 that the State took the +great step which brought primary education fully under its control; but +for many years before that date the elementary schools had been partially +supervised by the State, and from the year 1851 one of the greatest men of +letters of the time, Matthew Arnold, had laboured as an inspector in the +cause of popular education. The movement for the education of women and +for political equality between the sexes, if it has not added a new class +of readers, has certainly tended to widen the range of interest among +female readers.</p> + +<p>It would be rash to assert that this increase in the number of readers has +been an unmixed benefit to literature. The proportion of those who have +neither the culture nor the time and inclination to study serious books is +probably greater now than at any former period. The taste of such persons +is gratified by the mass of fiction and of periodicals which has grown and +is still growing year by year, not only in absolute, but in relative +quantity; and it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span> cannot be considered satisfactory that growth is most +vigorous just in those forms of literature which are least able to stand +the test of time. It may be freely conceded that much of this growth would +have taken place apart from any democratic movement or any extension of +popular education; but nevertheless it has been stimulated by these +causes.</p> + +<p>In respect of periodicals the change, as compared with even the generation +immediately preceding 1830, has been very great. The <i>Edinburgh Review</i> +was for some years the only great critical periodical in Britain. The +<i>Quarterly Review</i> was established to redress the political balance, +shaken by the organ of the Whigs. A little later, <i>Blackwood’s Magazine</i> +gave scope to the fun and humour for which there was no place in the +graver pages of its contemporaries. The <i>London Magazine</i> and the +<i>Westminster Review</i> likewise did valuable service to literature and +thought. But the great development of the magazines and critical journals +has taken place during the last sixty years. In the course of it two +tendencies have become manifest: first, a tendency to shorten the +intervals of publication; and secondly, a tendency to multiply the organs +of this periodical literature. The old quarterly has almost given place to +the monthly magazine; the latter in its turn has had to abandon no small +share of its province to the weekly journal; and recently the daily +newspaper has been encroaching more and more upon the sphere of the +weekly. Partly, no doubt, the change has been due to differentiation of +function; partly too it has been brought about by impatience, and +necessarily implies greater hurry and less mature consideration. The +multiplication of organs has been equally remarkable. In early days a few +magazines held the field alone; now their name is legion. One result is +that there will probably never again be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> concentrated on a single paper as +much talent and genius as we find in the early numbers of <i>Fraser’s +Magazine</i>. Another is that in ever growing ratio the literary talent of +the age finds its outlet in the periodical. If Horace was right in his +celebrated maxim, the change is not one to rejoice over.</p> + +<p>The increase of the magazines has influenced all literature, but +especially fiction. It has greatly stimulated the demand, and it has +changed the manner of publication. In earlier days a book was as a matter +of course finished before the publication began. Chiefly by reason of the +example of Dickens it became common to publish in parts; and the magazines +have made this the normal rather than the exceptional form of publication, +at least for authors of sufficient reputation to command an audience first +in the periodical and afterwards when the parts are gathered into a +volume. Lately there have been indications that this may come to be the +mode of publication, not of fiction only, but of serious historical and +biographical works as well.</p> + +<p>We see then that a large popular audience, the majority with little time, +little money and little culture, is the environment in which the man of +letters in these days has to live. For purposes of art it is neither the +best nor the worst possible. It is not so good as that of the Elizabethan +dramatists; for while many of the drawbacks are common to the two, there +is wanting in this later time that living contact between author and +public which invigorated almost every page written then. Still less is it +equal to that of the golden age of Athens, when, as the commonest remains +of art still indicate, the mere journey-work of the ordinary artisan +proved the existence of culture in the man himself, and of culture +generally diffused among those to whom his work appealed. In a less +degree, but for similar<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span> reasons, it is inferior to the environment of the +Italian Renaissance. On the other hand, it is better than patronage, +whether individual or political, and better than the terrible struggle out +of patronage through which Johnson passed. It is, in fact, the logical +development of that freedom which Johnson’s struggle won. But the kind of +‘natural selection’ it implies is rough in its process and crude in its +results. The popular audience nourishes and feeds fat a few classes who +minister to its wants, but there are many others, in a literary sense +nobler and more valuable, whom it barely enables to live. Darwin himself, +though he made earthworms far more fascinating than many novelists can +make the most romantic tale of love, could not have lived if he had been +really subject to this competition. As late as the year 1870 Matthew +Arnold was assessed for £1,000 a year; but the evidence satisfied the +Commissioners that the assessment must be cut down to £200; and the author +said that he must write more articles to prevent his being a loser even on +the smaller sum. Browning’s <i>Paracelsus</i>, <i>Sordello</i> and <i>Bells and +Pomegranates</i> were all published at his father’s expense and brought no +return whatever. Edward FitzGerald, one of the greatest poets of the age, +lived and died almost unknown, and is even now known to comparatively few. +Tennyson alone among the greater poets of the time was really successful +in the financial sense. Even in fiction there has been but little +proportion between merit and remuneration. Dickens and George Eliot +deserved and won success; Thackeray’s reward was comparatively inadequate; +and it is hardly probable that Mr. George Meredith ever received anything +approaching the sums paid to not a few of the favourites of a day. Evils +such as these—the accumulation of material rewards upon one class of +writers, want of discrimination even within that class,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> and neglect, more +or less complete, of others—must necessarily tend to cramp and fetter +literature. They are not new; perhaps they have been as bad in former +times; but at best we have done little or nothing towards finding a +remedy.</p> + +<p>The development of physical science is another feature of the time plainly +visible in its literature. It is needless to discuss its effect upon the +material conditions of life; for that has been not only fully recognised, +but its importance, for the present purpose, has been greatly exaggerated. +Besides this however, the direct contributions of science to literature +have been considerable, and some of them possess literary qualities rarely +equalled among the scientific writings of past times. Moreover, science +has so filled the minds and possessed the imagination of men that its +indirect has been far greater than its direct influence. Whatever its +ultimate creed may prove to be, science has certainly been in part +responsible for the growth of a spirit of materialism, and has caused +those who do not share that spirit to examine themselves and to remould +their arguments. Science has therefore tended to depress and to give a +tone of stoic resignation if not of pessimism to many who, without +accepting materialistic opinions, have been affected by them.</p> + +<p>But in another way science has been an elevating and inspiring power. Its +discoveries have stimulated men’s minds, and have done more than anything +else to rouse them from the lethargy consequent upon the apparent failure +of the Revolution. They have profoundly influenced literature, both +directly, and also through those philosophical and theological +speculations which inevitably colour all poetry and all imaginative prose. +The new facts of astronomy and geology have shaken many old theories and +suggested many new ones; and the results of biological<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> discovery have +been still more striking. The transforming power upon thought of the +theory of evolution may be measured by the fact that the majority even of +those who dislike and deny Darwinian evolution still believe that there +has been evolution of some kind. For thoughtful men, unless they are +heavily fettered by preconceptions, the old view has become impossible; +and no other except an evolutionary one has hitherto been even imagined. +Here therefore there is a great unsettlement of popular ideas, and no +little energy has been expended in fitting men’s minds to the new +conditions. Tractarianism, Pre-Raphaelitism, the satire, tempered with +mysticism, of Carlyle, the idealistic optimism of Browning, and the +creedless Christianity of Matthew Arnold, are all attempts to satisfy +either the intellectual or the moral and artistic needs of modern times, +and all show the influence of the scientific thought of the age.</p> + +<p>Some of these forces however have been in the main reactionary. Side by +side with the movement of science, which has on the whole tended to +positivism, agnosticism, and in a word to negative views of things +spiritual, there has gone on a remarkable revival of conceptions +diametrically opposed to these. The old narrow Protestantism of England +was powerful enough to struggle against Catholic Emancipation until the +delay became a danger to the state. Yet hardly was this act of justice +done when the great reaction known as the Oxford Movement began. It was, +as its consummate literary expression, the <i>Apologia</i> of Newman, proves, +the product of a double discontent,—a discontent, on the one hand, with +that movement of science just spoken of; and a discontent, on the other +hand, with what was felt to be the ‘creed outworn’ of English +Protestantism. As against the latter it has achieved, among those who +hungered for a more emotional religion, a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> wonderful success. As against +the former its utter failure has been veiled only by that success.</p> + +<p>Kindred in spirit and almost contemporaneous in origin was the movement of +the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood. On the surface, this seems quite unrelated +to Tractarianism; for while the Tractarians were all for dogma, the +Pre-Raphaelites were indifferent to it. But both movements were in essence +protests on behalf of the imaginative and æsthetic in human nature against +the exclusive nourishment of the intellectual element; and they proved +their kinship by each in its own way seeking to bring about a revival of +Mediævalism. In this fact moreover we see wherein their value consisted. +They fought a battle on behalf of aspects of the truth temporarily +threatened with neglect. In so far as they asserted or implied the +incompleteness of the scientific view of life they were almost wholly +right. In so far as they asserted its positive falsity they were almost +wholly wrong. The latter was however the error principally of the +religious movement. The Pre-Raphaelites may have been wrong in many +respects in their conceptions of art; but at least they generally confined +themselves within their own domain.</p> + +<p>Both of these schools, though they differ in degree of guilt, are +chargeable with the sin of ‘rending the seamless garment of thought.’ The +Pre-Raphaelite, implicitly if not in words, teaches that there is an +intellectual world <i>and</i> an æsthetic world. The Tractarians not merely +implied but insisted that there is a domain of reason <i>and</i> a domain of +authority.<small><a name="f1.1" id="f1.1" href="#f1">[1]</a></small> Because of this fundamental error we must look for the main +current of modern thought elsewhere; for if there is any one thing that +modern philosophy unequivocally<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> teaches, it is that all such divisions +are unsound. And we find that all the greatest men of letters of the +period are on this point in agreement with the philosophers. Carlyle, +Browning, Matthew Arnold, Thackeray and George Eliot, all in various ways +teach that art must not ignore the intellectual problem. Tennyson seemed +for a time to hold aloof and to live in a lotos-land of artistic beauty, +but he soon became restless, and all his greater works are charged with an +intellectual as well as an artistic meaning. These men are not in all +respects self-consistent. Browning in particular turned his back in his +old age upon the principle which inspired his more youthful work. But in +spite of inconsistencies he and the rest must all be classed as teaching, +with the philosophers, the unity of intellectual and spiritual life, and +the impossibility of ministering to the one without satisfying the other; +and for this reason it is to them rather than to writers of more limited +view that we must look for guidance in the labyrinth of contemporary +life.</p> + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I.</h2> +<p class="center"><span class="large">THOMAS CARLYLE.</span></p> + +<p>Poetry is so clearly the head and front of literature that in most periods +the first and chief attention must be paid to the poets. The Victorian age +is an exception, at least as regards the order in which prose and poetry +claim notice, and perhaps partly as regards their relative prominence. The +man who first gives us a key to the significance of the age of Tennyson is +not Tennyson himself, nor Browning, nor any writer of verse, but one who +believed that the day of poetry was past,—Thomas Carlyle (1795-1881). +Considerably older than the poets, he had, notwithstanding his early +difficulties, notwithstanding too the slow ripening of his own genius, +made a name in literature and stamped his mark on his generation before +either of them was widely known.</p> + +<p>Carlyle was born at Ecclefechan (the Entepfuhl of <i>Sartor Resartus</i>) in +Dumfriesshire. He was educated first at the local schools, and afterwards +at the University of Edinburgh, to which he refers in <i>Sartor</i> as ‘the +worst of all hitherto discovered universities.’ The purpose he had in view +was to take the divinity course and enter the ministry of the Scottish +Church. But this was rather the design of his parents than his own; as +time went on ‘grave prohibitive doubts’ accumulated; and about the year +1817 Carlyle definitely abandoned his purpose. He<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> was already supporting +himself by school-mastering, an occupation which grew more and more +irksome, and which in turn was thrown up in December, 1818. For some time +he drifted, oppressed by doubts and dyspepsia, until in 1821 occurred the +one fact recorded in <i>Sartor Resartus</i>, the incident in the Rue St. Thomas +de l’Enfer (Leith Walk), wherein Carlyle, shaking off his doubts, stands +up and confronts the Everlasting No and its claim, ‘Behold, thou art +fatherless, outcast, and the Universe is mine (the Devil’s),’ with the +answer, ‘<i>I</i> am not thine, but Free, and forever hate thee.’ This he ranks +as his ‘spiritual new birth;’ and as such it ought to receive attention in +any account, however brief, of a life which was mainly inward and +spiritual.</p> + +<p>But spiritual regeneration could not supply the need of daily bread. +Carlyle supported himself partly by the tutorship of private pupils, a +form of teaching less distasteful to him than his school work had been. He +was at the same time studying hard and reading widely, in French, Italian, +Spanish, and afterwards in German, as well as in English, and was slowly +gravitating towards the profession of literature. He contributed articles +to Brewster’s <i>Encyclopædia</i>. Through Edward Irving, who had been for +several years a generous friend, he was introduced to Taylor, the +proprietor of the <i>London Magazine</i>, who published for him the <i>Life of +Schiller</i>. About the same time the translation of <i>Wilhelm Meister</i> was +issued through the agency of an Edinburgh publisher.</p> + +<p>Carlyle’s marriage occurred in 1826, and he was for a short time happy. +But there still remained difficulties of finance as well as difficulties +of temper. Literary occupation did not prove either as easy to get or as +remunerative as Carlyle had hoped. His <i>German Romance</i> was financially a +failure, and publishers were on that account the less<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> disposed to +consider his books. He made unsuccessful attempts to find employment as a +professor, first in the London University, and again at St. Andrews. He +had lived since his marriage at Comely Bank, but had cherished more or +less all the time the purpose of retiring to his wife’s farm of +Craigenputtock, a solitary moorland place in Dumfriesshire. Moved probably +by these disappointments, he carried out his purpose in 1828. ‘Hinaus ins +freie Feld,’ to escape that necessity which ‘makes blue-stockings of +women, magazine hacks of men,’—this had been the impulse which drove him +thither. In less than four months it was ‘this Devil’s den, +Craigenputtock.’ But ‘this Devil’s den’ was his home from 1828 to 1834, +and, whatever doubts may be entertained as to the wisdom and kindness of +Carlyle in taking his wife there, if we judge by the result, we must +pronounce that he did what was best for his own literary development. It +was during those years that Carlyle grew to his full intellectual stature. +There and then were composed a great number of his essays; notably, among +the literary class, the essay on Burns, written at the beginning of the +Craigenputtock period, and, among the historical class, <i>The Diamond +Necklace</i>, written near the end. There too was written that autobiography +of ‘symbolical myth’ which, after being hawked in vain from one publisher +to another, at last appeared piecemeal in <i>Fraser’s Magazine</i>. There too +the <i>French Revolution</i> was, not indeed written, but planned and brooded +over; and it was with a mind already full of the subject that Carlyle in +1834 made his migration to London, his home for the rest of his life. His +character, moral and literary, was now formed; all the influences +subsequently brought to bear upon it were of subordinate importance; and +though in length of years the future period exceeded the period past, it +may be briefly dismissed.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span>The <i>History of the French Revolution</i>, delayed though it was by the +accidental burning of the manuscript of the first volume, was finished in +January, 1837, and published shortly afterwards. It was the turning point +in Carlyle’s literary life. Hitherto it had been a long, hard, almost +fierce struggle; but the <i>History</i> at once established him as one of the +foremost men of letters of his day. Success came none too soon. His +resources were all but exhausted, and, like his countryman Burns, so close +to him in some of the circumstances of his early life, he contemplated +emigration to America. From this he was saved by the project, devised by +Harriet Martineau, which produced his lectures on German literature. The +popularity of the <i>History</i> reacted on his earlier works; publishers +sought him instead of waiting to be approached; a proposal was made for +republishing even <i>Sartor</i>; and for the future Carlyle was sure, at any +rate, of a competence. His next work of moment was <i>Chartism</i> (1839), +written with a view to publication in the <i>Quarterly Review</i>. It was +declined by Lockhart, but in such a way that the author and the editor +retained for the future a strong mutual regard. In the year following +Carlyle delivered the last of his courses of lectures, afterwards (1841) +printed as <i>Heroes and Hero-Worship</i>. He was already deep in study for his +<i>Cromwell</i>, and finding, as usual, great difficulty in beginning. Very +different was his experience with <i>Past and Present</i>. This book, inspired +by the same sense of social evils to which we owe <i>Chartism</i>, ‘was written +off with singular ease in the first seven weeks of 1843.’ <i>Cromwell</i> was +not finished till 1845. It was no sooner out than Carlyle began to think +of <i>Frederick</i>; but of all the long ‘valleys of the shadow’ of his +literary life, that was the longest. Before it took shape there appeared +his <i>Latter-Day Pamphlets</i> (1850), of which the celebrated paper on <i>The +Nigger<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> Question</i> was the precursor. The <i>Life of Sterling</i> (1851) is a +strange contrast in tone and temper; for while the <i>Pamphlets</i> are among +the most violent of Carlyle’s writings, the <i>Life of Sterling</i> is one of +the calmest. It was not until after the publication of <i>Sterling</i> that he +seriously took to <i>Frederick the Great</i>, which had hitherto been only a +project floating in his mind with many others. He visited Germany to see +the scenes with which he had to deal and to gather materials. The first +and second volumes were published in 1858, and the third followed in 1862. +In the interval Carlyle had visited Germany a second time. <i>Frederick</i>, +finished in January, 1865, set the seal on Carlyle’s reputation as the +head of the literature, at least the prose literature, of his time. It was +also practically the end of his literary career. The world was ready to +shower honours upon him. He was chosen Rector of the University of +Edinburgh; but the triumph of his great inaugural speech was dashed almost +immediately by the news of the sudden death of his wife. He wrote one or +two minor articles, such as <i>Shooting Niagara</i>, and left the vivid and +interesting, but frequently uncharitable, <i>Reminiscences</i>. With such +exceptions, he lived henceforth, till his death on the 5th of February, +1881, the quiet, retired life of a man whose work was done.</p> + +<p>This man, so long neglected, was during a considerable part of his life, +and especially in the years between the publication of the <i>Frederick the +Great</i> and his death, the greatest literary force in England. The reasons +which ultimately secured for him this power are in part just the reasons +which so long stood in the way of his advancement. He was eminently +original in his matter, and perhaps even more in his style. But there is +always some difficulty in appraising the value of originality; and the +difficulty is all the greater when the originality is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> defiant and even +borders on eccentricity. To a great extent Carlyle’s early struggles were +necessary because no party, creed or faction could attach him to itself or +claim him as its champion. Every party in turn found it possible to assent +to his negations, yet each in turn had to disapprove of what he affirmed. +In politics, how could such an explosive force work in harmony with +orthodox Toryism? He was constantly ridiculing and denouncing a mere +fox-hunting and partridge-shooting aristocracy. ‘Si monumentum quaeris, +fimetum adspice.’ On the other hand, if the Radicals thought they had his +sympathy, they soon found that the gulf between him and them was even +wider, if possible, than that which separated him from their opponents. It +was the disclosure of this gulf which led to the breach with their best +man, and one of his best friends, Mill. They believed almost wholly in the +machinery of government, and he believed in it not at all. They were +economists, and he denounced economics as a mere pretended science. They +believed in government by majorities, and he considered it ‘the most +absurd superstition which had ever bewitched the human imagination—at +least, outside Africa.’ Again, he would admit no accepted theological +creed, and was consequently looked on askance by the accredited leaders of +religion. Anything like superstition he abominated. Newman, he thought, +had ‘not the intellect of a moderate-sized rabbit.’ On the other hand, he +had no sympathy with the liberal party of the Church of England. He +condemned the writers of <i>Essays and Reviews</i>. He respected Thirlwall, but +wished him anywhere but where he was. ‘There goes Stanley,’ said he of a +man whom he personally liked, ‘boring holes in the bottom of the Church of +England.’ He thought Arnold of Rugby fortunate in being taken away before +he was forced to choose between an honest abandonment of an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> untenable +position and a trifling with his own conscience. He liked best the +clergymen who could still honestly and literally and without misgiving +accept the Prayer Book, but he did not respect their intellect. Again, if +he did not like the ‘liberals’ within the Church, he liked still less the +liberals outside it. However much he dissented from the champions of +belief, he dissented still more from the apostles of unbelief. He had a +faith, though not a creed. Separated thus from the orthodox by what he did +not believe, and from the heterodox by what he believed, from one +political party because he saw it would be fatal to remain inactive and +leave <i>ill</i> alone, and from the other because he was convinced that +movement in the direction they desired would be futile or worse, Carlyle +stood alone. He had to create his own party, and the process was +necessarily a slow one. But the very cause which made the work slow made +it also great when it was accomplished.</p> + +<p>One aspect of Carlyle’s work not always duly recognised is its +concentration of purpose. Superficially viewed, it has the appearance of a +heterogeneous miscellany. Essays, literary, historical and mixed, +biographies and mythical autobiography, histories drawn from different +centuries and different peoples, idealised pictures of the past, and +fierce pamphlets, not at all idealised, on questions emphatically of the +present, succeed each other in his volumes. The very records of his +literary life help to confirm this impression. No sooner has he finished +one important work than he casts about to discover a subject for another. +He makes no nation and no century specially his own, as it is the custom +of the modern historian to do. In his longer works he jumps from the +French Revolution to Cromwell, and from Cromwell to Frederick the Great. +He seems to have been turned to the second subject almost by accident. He +had been asked by Mill to write on Cromwell in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> <i>London and +Westminster Review</i>. ‘There is nothing,’ says his biographer, ‘in his +journals or letters to show that Cromwell had been hitherto an interesting +figure to him.’ The projected magazine article was turned into a book +through the impertinence of Mill’s substitute, who in the absence of his +superior wrote to Carlyle that he ‘need not go on, for “he meant to do +Cromwell himself.”’ The choice of Frederick seems to have been hardly less +fortuitous, and in itself it was more surprising than the choice of +Cromwell.</p> + +<p>Yet under this diversity it is always possible to detect a unity both of +purpose and of effect. In the first place, there is the unity of Carlyle’s +own character. Everything he wrote was self-revealing; and it is scarcely +too much to say that his whole works are an expansion and, as +circumstances demanded, a modification, of the autobiographic <i>Sartor +Resartus</i>. We see this in many ways. Carlyle is best when the conditions +under which he works are such as to allow himself to appear freely, +naturally, spontaneously, without fierce invectives and exaggeration. +This, in his case, generally implies similarity without personal contact, +or with contact from which the aspect of possible competition is removed. +He is worst of all where there is a partial similarity without sympathy. +Thus, the best perhaps of Carlyle’s literary essays is that on Burns; and +the reason why it is best is that Burns was in some ways so like himself. +Both sprang from the Scottish peasantry, and the minds of both were deeply +coloured by the experiences of their early youth. In writing of Burns and +his father, Carlyle never forgets himself and his own father. On the other +hand, the essay on Scott is certainly among the worst of his essays, just +because Scott is at once too near to him and too far from him. Scott +belonged to a different class in society, pursued different aims, and had +a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> widely different literary history from Carlyle. Yet both were Scotch, +and in the blood which they inherited as well as in the mental and moral +food on which they were nourished there was much to bring them together. +The same contrast is illustrated by the <i>Reminiscences</i>. There, every +reference to his own family is distinguished by clear comprehension and +profound sympathy; while, unfortunately, nearly every reference to +contemporaries not related to him by blood is disfigured by acrimony and +depreciation. In the <i>Life of Sterling</i> friendship performs the function +which blood-relationship performs in the <i>Reminiscences</i>. The essays on +foreign writers, both French and German, deal with men much farther +removed from Carlyle than Scott was; and if they have not that depth of +sympathy and that fineness of perception which are the charm of the essay +on Burns, they are free from the bitterness and ungenerous depreciation +which mar the essay on Scott. Take, for example, Carlyle’s treatment of +Goethe. In many ways the great German was almost as far removed as it was +possible to be from his Scotch disciple. Yet Carlyle’s comprehension is +clear, his appreciation ready, his criticism wise. We see himself in it +all, but just because of their wide differences his own image never blurs +that of Goethe.</p> + +<p>It will be found that the principle underlying Carlyle’s choice of +historical themes was similar. He was bound to reveal <i>himself</i>; but +Carlyle’s <i>self</i> was a particular view of the universe. His subject +therefore must illustrate this. He was naturally attracted to the French +Revolution. It is the greatest movement of recent history; and Carlyle +invariably sought for lessons for the present. It dealt the death-blow to +many shams and hypocrisies; and Carlyle waged a life-long war against +these. While its creed was the equality of men, no great movement has +ever<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> more vividly illustrated their great and inevitable inequality; and +Carlyle rejoiced to see the truth assert itself in spite of the +prepossessions of a victorious mob, and rejoiced to point to the +confirmation of his own favourite doctrine. Again, though Cromwell seems +to have been brought to his mind almost by chance, the points of contact +between the hero and his historian are sufficiently obvious. Cromwell’s +strength, his thoroughness, his roughness, his veracity, his piety, all +contributed to endear him to Carlyle. The ‘Calvinist without the theology’ +was fundamentally in sympathy with the great English Puritan. His boyhood +and early training fitted him, better perhaps than any other training of +the nineteenth century could possibly have done, to sympathise with the +opinions of the Puritan of the seventeenth. It was the instinct which +draws like to like that made him welcome the first suggestion of Cromwell +as a subject; just as the same instinct made him afterwards ponder upon +Knox as another possible subject.</p> + +<p>The choice of Frederick is certainly that which requires most explanation, +for in many ways his character seems strangely foreign to anything likely, +<i>a priori</i>, to attract Carlyle. Complete explanation is perhaps not +possible, but partial explanation certainly is. We must remember Carlyle’s +worship of force. He had been preaching all his life a form of the +doctrine, might is right; and, as was usual with him, the doctrine had +grown more extreme under contradiction and opposition. Thus we have the +<i>Nigger Question</i> and the <i>Iliad in a Nutshell</i>. There is an element of +truth in the doctrine, and under Carlyle’s original application of it +there had been a well-marked moral foundation, so that it could have been +in many cases altered to read, ‘right is might.’ He meant not merely that +‘Providence is on the side of the heaviest battalion,’ but quite as much +that the battalion is heaviest<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> because Providence is on its side. In +other words, he believed that the forces of the universe are moral forces +and that true and permanent success mean being in harmony with them. As +time went on however the qualifications were gradually stripped off, and +latterly what Carlyle worshipped was little better than naked force. Now, +in all the eighteenth century he could hardly have found a better example +of successful force than Frederick. Destitute as he was of the piety of +Carlyle’s previous hero, he was at least an eminently successful governor, +and Carlyle respected nothing so much as the faculty for the genuine +government of men, not what he would have called sham government, the kind +of government which follows while it seems to lead. If Frederick had not +created a state, he had raised it from a position bordering on +insignificance to one not far from the front in the European system. +Moreover, this state was peculiarly interesting to Carlyle, for he saw in +Prussia the future head of Germany, and in Germany a possible leader of +Europe. These reasons induced him to turn to Frederick, and perhaps +tempted him to clothe Frederick with attributes which were not all his. +For the method of hero-worship has its dangers, and only prejudice would +assert that the great hero-worshipper, keen as was his insight into +character, has wholly escaped those dangers.</p> + +<p>It was through these barriers, the barriers of an original and not +infrequently eccentric genius, and of a personality strange and uncouth to +the majority of his readers, that Carlyle had to fight his way to fame. It +is true that at first the uncouthness and eccentricity were less +prominent. The style of his earliest writings—the <i>Life of Schiller</i> for +example—is simple and almost limpid; the arrangement is orderly, the +development obeys the rules of a logic easily comprehended. But Carlyle +speedily worked his way out<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> of this style, and seldom used it afterwards. +<i>Sartor Resartus</i>, the great product of the Craigenputtock period, +presents all his peculiarities in their most aggressive form. Partly in +fact, but still more in appearance, it is lawless and chaotic. Its style, +difficult even now to a generation accustomed to and partly formed by +Carlyle, was then unparalleled and, except after serious study, almost +incomprehensible. It is full of evidences of German studies, German +sympathies, and the influence of German thought. Carlyle has done more +than anyone else to make these familiar in England; but before <i>Sartor</i> +was published almost the only interpreters of Germany to England were men +like Coleridge and De Quincey, who not only made the form English, but +gave an English stamp to the matter as well. <i>Sartor</i>, moreover, was full +of a humour deep and genuine but unfamiliar in kind, and, as regards the +first impression produced, almost sardonic in character. Its subject was +not calculated to arrest immediate attention. It was not the history of a +nation or of a national hero. What it actually was could not be +immediately perceived; but after bestowing some attention the reader +discovered it to be the spiritual biography of a man then unknown, and his +thoughts on human life and human society, presented humorously, +whimsically, often enigmatically. It is not therefore altogether matter +for wonder that this strange book with difficulty found a publisher, nor +even that it threatened with ruin the magazine which at last received it. +America, more tolerant of novelties, to her honour welcomed it; but in +England the current opinion seems to have been expressed by the ‘oldest +subscriber,’ who said to Fraser, ‘If there is any more of that d——d +stuff, I will, etc., etc.’ We frequently boast of our progress. Is it +certain that even now a phenomenon as strange as <i>Sartor</i> would meet with +any better reception? John Stuart<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> Mill, a man as open-minded as he was +intelligent, for a long time saw nothing in Carlyle’s early essays but +‘insane rhapsody;’ and, though he was afterwards one of the warmest +panegyrists of <i>Sartor</i>, which he thought Carlyle’s greatest work, he read +the manuscript unmoved. Not once nor twice, either in this island’s story +or in the history of the world, has the prophet been rejected by the +generation he was sent to serve. Rather, rejection has been the general +fate of prophets ever since the time when the children of Israel rebelled +against Moses in the wilderness.</p> + +<p>What redeemed <i>Sartor</i> in the eyes of those who had the patience to study +it, was the discovery that the inner history of this unknown man had, in +the first place, the interest which always belongs to human experiences +told with absolute sincerity. For though <i>Sartor</i> contains little or no +truth of fact, it is wholly true in idea. Carlyle, now as always, was +intolerant of the very shadow of falsehood; and it was to his unswerving +truth that he ultimately owed the greater part of his influence.</p> + +<p>In the second place, the small band of careful readers discovered that +<i>Sartor</i> was not only true and sincere, but that its truth was capable of +an immediate and practical application. It was not something applicable +only to a distant past or to another state of existence; its sphere was +here and now. This is characteristic of Carlyle in all his works. He was +always in intention, and generally in effect, the teacher first of his own +generation, and secondly of the future. His interest in ancient history +and literature was comparatively feeble, because he saw not how to bring +them to bear so directly on the present. It was modern England, France and +Germany, rather than ancient Greece and Rome, that nourished his mind. And +for this reason, though his influence was of slow growth, it was deep +rooted when it did spring.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span><i>Sartor Resartus</i> is peculiarly important because of its chronological +position. We have seen in the Introduction that the failure of the +revolutionary ideal gives to the new period its most prominent +characteristic. ‘The gospel according to Jean Jacques’ was accepted no +longer. <i>Sartor</i> may be called a grim sort of gospel according to Thomas +Carlyle. Carlyle himself had written before this; Macaulay had begun his +brilliant career; among the poets, Tennyson, Browning and Elizabeth +Barrett had published their earlier works; but <i>Sartor</i> is the first great +book which faces the difficulties, and, in a way, embodies the aspirations +of the new period. Its grimness no one will dispute. It is also a gospel, +because the Everlasting No is routed, and under all the enigmas there is +the promise of success and, if not Happiness, Blessedness, in work. It +deals with quite a surprising range of modern problems. All the principal +social, political and religious questions of the century are treated in +greater or less detail. Carlyle’s attitude towards economic and other +science, his views on religion, the outline of his opinions as to the +position and proper treatment of the poor, his conviction of the need of a +better and stronger government, may all be seen in <i>Sartor</i>. He expanded +greatly and illustrated in his later writings, but he did not add much. +<i>Sartor</i> is his most original and probably his greatest work. It is +peculiarly interesting to notice that in it the central point of his creed +is the need of reconstruction. Religion must be reconstructed: the ‘Hebrew +old-clothes’ have had their day and will serve for human garments no +longer. But this is equally true of the tailoring of the French +Revolution: society itself has to be reconstructed. And the +reconstruction, in Carlyle’s view, is a complex task. The salvation of +mankind must be sought by the positive, not by the negative method. The +way will be long and difficult, not short and simple as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> the +Revolutionists supposed. Neither will any amount of political machinery +suffice. Not by majorities, however numerous, nor by ballot-boxes, however +ingenious, can sound government be carried on, but only by something which +goes to the root of character. Carlyle, writing in the midst of a great +agitation for improvement in political machinery, merely looks on in +contemptuous indifference, convinced that at least the true solution lies +not there. He was too contemptuous, for the true solution lies not in any +one thing but in the union of many, and of these political machinery is +one.</p> + +<p>Carlyle was not the only writer of this period who gave thought to such +problems, nor the only one who appreciated their complexity, but it was he +who first adequately expressed them; and it is <i>Sartor Resartus</i>, written +in solitude on the Dumfriesshire moors, that summons the crowds of modern +cities to face and solve them. If the voice is the voice of one crying in +the wilderness, it is addressed to the multitudes of human society +wherever they are gathered together.</p> + +<p>The principle at the root of all Carlyle’s other works is the same. It has +been already pointed out how his own character forms, as it were, a +background even to his histories. As that character had been built up in +the struggle with, and continued to be absorbed in the contemplation of, +those problems, it follows that the histories are just the presentation of +the same problems under the wider and more varied conditions of national +existence. There was artistic gain to Carlyle in the new conditions. A +longer dwelling in the regions of <i>Sartor</i> would have fed the morbid blood +in him. History, without smothering his own personality, took him +sufficiently out of it to check this tendency. The <i>History of the French +Revolution</i> is much purer as an artistic conception than <i>Sartor</i>. It is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> +more orderly in development, it has more artistic unity. Indeed, with the +exception of one or two of Carlyle’s smaller works, like the <i>Life of +Sterling</i>, it is in this respect the best he ever wrote. Among histories +it is quite singular for its coherence. Few histories have the unity of +works of imaginative art. Among early works we may find one or two, like +the history of Herodotus, which simulate the character and rival the +proportions of a national epic. Among later works we may find one or two, +like Gibbon’s, which derive an impressive unity from the stately march of +events to a great far-off catastrophe. But probably nowhere is there a +history which in every chapter, and almost in every sentence, breathes the +artistic purpose as Carlyle’s <i>History of the French Revolution</i> does. It +has been frequently called the ‘epic’ of the Revolution. In point of fact, +as Froude justly says, the conception is rather dramatic, and the best +comparison is to Æschylus.</p> + +<p>Carlyle had an infinite respect for facts, and as far as he could by +industry and care, he assured himself that all he wrote as history was +exactly true. It is of small moment that, like all the historians who have +ever lived or ever will live, he has been proved to have made mistakes. +But it is well to notice that, much as he revered facts, no one is farther +removed than he from the school of Dryasdust. Few were so bold in making +selection of their facts. The artistic principle always underlying his +work saved him from the mistake into which so many recent historians seem +prone to fall, the mistake of attempting to tell everything. To Carlyle, +the fact must be illuminative, or he cast it aside. Moreover, while he +denounced theorists, few bolder theorists than himself have ever written. +Behind almost every sentence of his <i>French Revolution</i> there lies a +theory, of character or motive, if not of cause and effect. The difference +between him and the theorists he railed at was really<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> that he presented +poetically what, they presented logically. He was aware of the limited +truth attainable by their method; he was not perhaps fully aware of the +dangers of his own. We see this imaginative element in the great part +which character plays in the development of the French Revolution as +Carlyle conceived it. It is in men, not in political machinery, that we +must seek the clue to it. Hence the prominence, perhaps exaggerated, given +to Mirabeau. Carlyle’s facts are never left bare facts. He reverences +them, not so much in themselves, as for the insight they give into the +souls of men. This is the key-note of Carlyle’s histories. They are +essentially imaginative; and the writer spends his strength less in a +narrative of events than in delineation of characters, and in the tracing +of moral forces.</p> + +<p>Carlyle’s <i>Cromwell</i> is, more than either of the other histories, an +illustration of his own doctrine of heroes, and less than either of the +others is it a history of a nation as well as of a man. Cromwell to a +great extent speaks for himself, and Carlyle expounds and comments on his +uncouth and sometimes obsolete manner of expression. The commentary is +free and even ample, yet there is less of Carlyle himself in this than in +any other of his works. The great features of it are its delineation of +the man Cromwell and the proof it presents of Carlyle’s skill in the use +of documents. Carlyle has not converted everybody to his own view of +Cromwell, but he has at least coloured the opinion of everybody who has +since studied the period.</p> + +<p>If <i>Cromwell</i> is narrower in its scope than the <i>French Revolution</i>, +<i>Frederick the Great</i> is even wider. The Revolution expanded into a +European movement, but within the limits Carlyle set to himself it was +essentially French. Frederick was the centre of a movement which Carlyle +found could only be treated as a European one. He was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> led by the +relations, alliances and wars of his hero, to deal at greater or less +length with all the principal countries of Europe, and his book, instead +of being merely the history of a man, became the history of one of the +most momentous series of events of the eighteenth century. In this respect +therefore the history of Frederick is his most ambitious historical work; +and either to it or to the <i>French Revolution</i> must be adjudged the palm +of excellence in its class. Various arguments might be adduced on both +sides, and it would be rash to pronounce definitely. For the earlier work +it might be pleaded that it is clearly the more perfect in artistic +conception. It is also true that, interesting as is the Seven Years’ War, +and interesting as, in Carlyle’s hands, the growth of the Prussian +Monarchy becomes, there is nothing in the subject-matter of <i>Frederick</i> +quite as enthralling as the volcanic scenes of the <i>French Revolution</i>. It +may also be pleaded that passages of eloquent writing are more frequent, +and individual passages probably greater in the latter. The art in it +moreover is purer, less intermixed with the grotesque, and with what can +only be set down to Carlyle’s individual eccentricities. On the other +hand, <i>Frederick</i> is even more forcible than the <i>French Revolution</i>. +Carlyle gathered power as years went on, and he never expended it more +lavishly than on this latest and most ambitious of his works. Nowhere, +except perhaps in <i>Sartor</i>, are all his peculiarities more conspicuous; +nowhere is his gospel preached with more uncompromising energy; nowhere is +his strange style more unrestrained and less amenable to the ordinary laws +of English composition. For these reasons, combined with the wide range of +the work, which tasked his power of construction as it had never been +tasked before, <i>Frederick the Great</i> will probably always win the +suffrages of a large proportion of Carlylean devotees. For the same +reasons, those who, acknowledging<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> Carlyle’s original genius and admiring +his power, are only half reconciled to his sometimes wanton +eccentricities, will doubtless continue to prefer the more regular <i>French +Revolution</i>.</p> + +<p>Regarding the purely historical essays as minor examples of the kind of +works just discussed, Carlyle’s remaining writings may be divided into two +classes. These, in the order of their importance in his own eyes, and +probably to the world, are, (1) works dealing with or bearing directly +upon contemporary social and political problems; and (2) literary essays, +including under the latter head the translations and the two biographies +of Schiller and Sterling.</p> + +<p>Under the first class rank such works as <i>Chartism</i>, <i>Past and Present</i> +and <i>Latter-day Pamphlets</i>. Under it too might be fairly brought some of +the essays, such, for example, as the essay on the <i>Corn Law Rhymes</i>, +which, though it deals primarily with a literary subject, was written +because that subject opened immediately into a social one. But indeed all +Carlyle’s works are closely cognate to this section; for if he was not +directly treating of such themes, his thoughts were never far away from +them. Still, there is a difference between dealing directly with a subject +and illustrating it by a borrowed light. In Carlyle’s case the latter was +the preferable method, and his wisest teaching on matters of immediate +practical moment is not contained in the class of works here considered. +The reason is that in discussing such questions he usually became violent +and one-sided. Carlyle, as much as any man who ever lived, had ‘the +defects of his qualities.’ We see in his own life how force and +directness, his greatest qualities both literary and personal, become on +occasion vices instead of virtues. He recognised the fact himself, and +once humorously warned his own people, whom he had alarmed by his +outcries, that they ought to know him<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> too well to believe that he was +being killed merely because he cried murder. But this habit of crying +murder, trifling perhaps in itself, had no little influence for evil on +his own life and on the life of her who was most closely associated with +him. Just the same fault may be observed in all his works to some degree, +but especially in the section of them now under discussion. Carlyle +habitually saw through a magnifying glass. As he made an outcry if his own +finger ached, so he did in the case of the evils of his own time. The +‘something in the state of Denmark’ he could contemplate with comparative +equanimity, and the lesson he drew from that state was apt to be more just +because more temperate than that which he drew directly from the present +time itself. Compare, for instance, the ‘past’ with the ‘present’ in <i>Past +and Present</i>. The former is calm, pure, beautiful, and, we feel convinced, +true. The latter is lurid, turbid, exaggerated, repellent, only in part +true. We cannot accept as true at all the contrast between the one age and +the other; only a most enthusiastic disciple can fail to note that a +select specimen of the past is pitted against the average, or worse than +the average, of the present. But not thus is truth reached, and not thus +is conviction carried to the candid mind. Doubtless Carlyle wished to +reform, and the way to reform, it may be urged, is rather to point out +what needs amendment than to insist upon the advantages of ‘our +incomparable civilisation.’ This is true, but justice is the prime +requisite as a preliminary to reform. The way to win men’s acquiescence is +not to paint Hyperion on the one hand and a satyr on the other. The better +way is to point out how a society faulty, troubled, but, it may be, not +hopelessly corrupt, may be made in this point and in that a little less +faulty, less troubled, less corrupt.</p> + +<p>There is no such contrast in Carlyle’s other works to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> drive the sense of +his error home; but the same error is present in them. It is far from +being the case that their matter is essentially bad, or that Carlyle is +essentially wrong. There is much that is wholly sound and good in +<i>Chartism</i>; but it is unrelieved and unbalanced. The same is true of the +<i>Latter-day Pamphlets</i>. Even the much-abused <i>Nigger Question</i> is +fundamentally right. What it means is that unless we organise free labour +we had better give up boasting that we have set it free. The liberation of +the West Indian slaves had brought to the verge of bankruptcy what had +previously been the richest of British colonial possessions, robbed them +of a prosperity which they have never fully recovered, ruined the whites, +and deprived the blacks themselves of a government and discipline which +Carlyle believed to be morally necessary to them, and therefore their +right. There are several points of contact between this and the theory of +Aristotle; there is also a general resemblance between it and the bold +doctrine of Carlyle’s countryman, Andrew Fletcher of Saltoun, who, +impressed by the evil of unorganised free labour degenerating into +vagabondage, advocated the re-introduction of slavery. It does not follow +from the evils pointed out by Carlyle that slavery ought to have been +maintained; but it does seem a fair inference that the process of +liberation actually adopted was ill considered, and was no subject for +unqualified jubilation. If Carlyle had advanced such ideas in a moderate +and conciliatory way he might have made converts. Instead of that, he was +aggressive. He sowed the wind of provocation, and he reaped the whirlwind +of opposition, rejection, sometimes of vituperation. It is vain to wish +that he had done otherwise; he could only do as his character allowed him +to do; but we shall do well to recognise that violence proved to be not +strength but weakness, and that with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> more self-control he would probably +have produced greater practical effect.</p> + +<p>The class of writings dealing with literature and literary men is that to +which Carlyle himself would have attached least importance. He was a man +of letters by necessity rather than by choice. He would do nothing which +did not promise him an opening into the sphere of the ideal, and +literature was the only profession within his reach which seemed to do +that. He would have preferred a life of action, provided the action had +not for its end mere money-getting; and he declared there were few +occupations for which he was not better fitted by nature than for that in +which he spent his life. There may have been some exaggeration in this. If +Carlyle had not by nature the faculty for writing, he made a marvellous +faculty for himself. In favour of his own view, however, we may call to +mind his well-known contempt for poetry, or rather verse, as it existed, +and as he conceived it could alone exist, in his own day. Probably no born +man of letters ever cherished such contempt, or ever submitted to be a +writer of prose without some regret that he could not be a poet. Carlyle’s +half-dislike and more than half-disbelief in his own profession shows +itself in the fact that he escapes as soon as possible from the region of +pure literature; and, while he remains himself a man of letters, he writes +by preference about action and as little as may be about books and +authors. His literary essays therefore belong principally to the first +period of his authorship. Moreover, he betrays his tendency by his choice +of subjects. He writes with most satisfaction on authors whom he can +regard as teachers; on others he writes only of necessity and with little +sympathy.</p> + +<p>Carlyle’s creed was that a critic must first stand where his subject stood +before criticism could be other than <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span>misleading. The way to write either +fruitful criticism or true history was to read and reflect until it was +possible to think the thoughts of men of the time or of the country to be +commented on. He carried out these precepts by way of biography as well as +of critical essays. Of his two biographies, the <i>Life of Schiller</i>, though +good, is much the less interesting and valuable. The <i>Life of Sterling</i> by +common consent ranks among the best in English literature. Carlyle’s work +is, as a rule, remarkable rather for the presence of merits than for the +absence of faults, but the <i>Life of Sterling</i> has few faults. It is +exceedingly well proportioned, both in its several parts and with +reference to its subject. Carlyle has moreover, while showing sincere +friendship everywhere, preserved a wonderful sanity of judgment. It is +impossible to rank Sterling’s performances high, and his biographer, while +respecting the man and steadily believing him greater than his works, +steadily refuses to eulogise mediocre writings. An air of moderation, of +charity and of kindliness breathes over the whole, as if Carlyle still +felt the influence of his dead friend. He has written greater things, but +none perhaps equally delightful.</p> + +<p>It is necessary to add a word about Carlyle’s much-debated style. But, in +the first place, we ought in propriety to speak of Carlyle’s <i>styles</i>. He +had two, practised mainly, though not exclusively, in different periods of +his life. His early style was a clear, strong, simple English, almost +wholly free from the ellipses, inversions and mannerisms associated with +his name. These gradually grew, and appeared fully developed for the first +time in <i>Sartor Resartus</i>. Carlyle retained but seldom exercised the power +of writing in his earlier style. The <i>Life of Sterling</i> has more affinity +to it than to his later mode. But when Carlyle’s style is spoken of, what +is meant is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> invariably the style of his later books. It is over this that +the battle has raged. There is no style more strange and unexampled in +English, or more at war with ordinary rules. It is in the highest degree +mannered, it seems to be affected, it is anything but simple. Certainly it +is the last and worst of all styles to select for imitation. No man would +ever advise another to give his days and nights to the study of Carlyle in +order to learn how to write English. In the abstract, if it were possible +to take it in the abstract, it would be described as an exceedingly bad +style; but whether it was bad for Carlyle is less clear. Though it is not +natural in the sense of being born with him, it is natural in the sense +that it seems peculiarly adapted to his turn of thought. Could Carlyle +have expressed his humour and irony otherwise? It is difficult to say; but +at least he never did it with perfect success until he developed this +style. If the style was really necessary to the complete expression of +what was in Carlyle, then that is its sufficient justification. Among the +various ‘supreme virtues’ which have been assigned to style, the only +genuine one is just this, that it and it alone, whether simple or ornate, +curt or periodic, best expresses the thought of the writer. Yet we are apt +to exclaim after all, ‘the pity of it!’ If only the humour and irony, the +intensity and passion, could have found a voice more nearly in the key of +other voices! This style will almost certainly tell against the permanence +of Carlyle’s fame. The world is a busy world, and the simple, clear, +direct writer, the man whom he who runs may read, has a double chance of +the busy world’s attention. Swift, whom Carlyle resembled in not a few +ways, wrote a style unsurpassed for clearness and simplicity, yet he is +not much read. How much less would he be read were <i>Gulliver’s Travels</i> +written in the style of <i>Sartor Resartus</i>!</p> + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II.</h2> +<p class="center"><span class="large">POETRY FROM 1830 TO 1850. THE GREATER POETS: TENNYSON AND BROWNING.</span></p> + +<p>While it is in the prose of Thomas Carlyle that we first find a key to the +ultimate and deeper tendencies of literature, it is in verse that we see +most clearly its characteristics for the moment. In the interesting +preface to <i>Philip van Artevelde</i>, published in 1834, Henry (afterwards +Sir Henry) Taylor remarked that the poetry which had been recently +popular, of which he took Byron’s as typical, was marked by great +sensibility and fervour, profusion of imagery and easy and adroit +versification; while it showed inadequate appreciation of what he called +the intellectual and immortal part, and a want of subject-matter. ‘No +man,’ he adds, ‘can be a very great poet who is not also a great +philosopher.’ About the poetry of his own days, he says that ‘whilst it is +greatly inferior in quality, it continues to be like his [Byron’s] in +kind.’</p> + +<p>The criticism is just, and the aspiration is not only towards a desirable +reform, but towards that which in point of fact has redeemed literature in +the later decades of the century, and has given the Victorian age a +position among the great poetic epochs of English literature. At the +moment when Taylor wrote, the sinking so frequently noticeable between two +great periods of literature was plainly to be seen, and it was far deeper +in poetry than in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> prose. The great poets were somewhat later in coming +than their brethren in prose, Macaulay and Carlyle; and, still more, it +was longer before they proved to the satisfaction of criticism their title +to be considered great. The field was for the time in possession of a band +of minor poets, some of them not merely minor but insignificant. It is not +enough to say that they are inferior to Byron, they belong to a different +order altogether; for Byron, with all his faults, was great. It was +however in his footsteps that they trod. As Keats and Shelley and +Wordsworth have been the ruling powers since 1840, so during his brilliant +life, and from his death down to about that year, was Byron. The poetry of +the opening years of this period is therefore rightly affiliated to him. +Even Tennyson, a man of wholly alien genius, felt the influence, as the +<i>Poems by Two Brothers</i> shows; while the verse of Letitia Elizabeth Landon +proves that sex was no barrier to it.</p> + +<p>Want of subject-matter and of capacity for the intellectual and immortal +part is precisely the defect of the poetry of those years. It is +essentially trivial. It leaves the impression that the poet is writing not +because he must, but because he has determined to do so. For the present +purpose it is safer to draw conclusions from the work of a single great +man than from that of many mediocre writers; and when we find Tennyson, +already great in technical skill and graceful in style, sinking to +triviality in subject and to commonplace sentiment, we look for an +explanation not wholly confined to himself. We find it in the fact that +those years were an interregnum between the philosophy of Rousseau and +that gospel of work of which even Carlyle was as yet only half master, and +which no one else had then grasped at all. Men were oppressed by a sense +that the Revolution had shattered the old foundations of society; and they +had scarcely gathered courage<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> to attempt the task of reconstruction. To +call therefore for a philosophy in poetry was right; but to supply it was +impossible until the hour had come, and the man. Meanwhile the ordinary +writer of verse groped in darkness or walked by a borrowed light. But in a +sense, the man, or the men, had come, and the hour was rapidly +approaching. Just three years before the beginning of the period Alfred +Tennyson began to write, and just three years after it Robert Browning +published his first poem.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Alfred, Lord Tennyson<br />(1809-1892).</div> + +<p>Alfred, Lord Tennyson, was born at Somersby in Lincolnshire, of which +place his father was rector. He was educated at Trinity College, +Cambridge, where he was contemporary with and made the acquaintance of an +unusual number of men afterwards highly distinguished. Tennyson’s most +intimate friend was Arthur Henry Hallam (1811-1833), son of the historian, +and himself a writer of high promise, both in verse and prose. The +literary remains published after Hallam’s death can only be regarded as +the promise of something that might have been. There is nothing great in +them, but there is evidence of power which would probably have led the +writer to greatness. Dying so young however, Hallam is memorable not so +much for anything he did himself, as for his influence on his friend, and +especially for the fact that he inspired <i>In Memoriam</i>.</p> + +<p>During his course at Cambridge Tennyson won the Chancellor’s prize with +the poem of <i>Timbuctoo</i>, a piece above the ordinary prize-poem level, but +not in itself remarkable. Still earlier, in 1827, he had joined with his +brother Charles in a small volume entitled <i>Poems by Two Brothers</i>. But +these compositions were merely boyish, and Tennyson’s first noteworthy +contribution to literature was the <i>Poems, chiefly Lyrical</i>, of 1830. This +was followed by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> another volume bearing the date 1833, and entitled simply +<i>Poems</i>. Then came nine years of almost complete silence, broken, in 1842, +by two volumes entitled once more, <i>Poems</i>. These mark the end of +Tennyson’s first period of authorship. In the volumes of 1830 and 1833 we +may look upon him as in many respects an apprentice in poetry; in those of +1842 he has passed far beyond mere apprenticeship. <i>The Princess</i> (1847) +indicates a change in his method and in the nature of his ambitions; while +<i>In Memoriam</i> (1850), though it has its roots in the early life of +Tennyson, and was in part at least written when the grief it commemorates +was fresh, is connected by its subject-matter rather with Tennyson’s later +work and with the interests of the second half of the century. In the year +when <i>In Memoriam</i> was published Tennyson succeeded Wordsworth in the +laureateship, an office which he held for a longer period than any of his +predecessors. His appointment was the public recognition of him as the +chief poet of his time.</p> + +<p>The most interesting feature of Tennyson’s writings during those years is +the evidence of development they present; and this is especially important +in any attempt to gauge the tendencies of the time. This evidence has been +much obscured by changes and omissions. Part of the contents of the +volumes of 1830 and 1833 has been incorporated in the collected editions +of Tennyson’s poems. About half of the collection of 1842 consisted of +select poems from the earlier volumes; but many pieces were omitted, and +of those retained almost all were freely changed, and some nearly +re-written. For this reason it is difficult for the reader of the present +day to appreciate fairly the early criticisms of Tennyson. It is well +known that he was severely handled, especially by Lockhart in the +<i>Quarterly Review</i>; and it is supposed, on the ground of the poet’s great +achievements, that this is only another<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> example of perverse and utterly +mistaken criticism. But such a judgment is hardly fair to the critic. +Carlyle long afterwards condensed the criticism in his expressive way into +a word,—‘lollipops.’ A great many of Tennyson’s early poems were +‘lollipops,’ dainty, exquisite, delicious to taste, but not food. They are +elegant, not strong. They are deficient in two things essential to great +poetry, depth of thought, and fervour of passion. The need of passion to +poetry will be universally admitted; and to the need of thought, +especially in the present century, one of the greatest of English critics +has borne emphatic testimony. ‘I do not think,’ says Matthew Arnold in his +<i>Letters</i>, ‘that any poet of our day can make much of his business unless +he is intellectual.’</p> + +<p>Now, among the early poems of Tennyson there are many pieces in which the +want of these qualities is felt. He was certainly not in those days a poet +of passion. His pulse temperately keeps time all the while he is drawing +his Lilian, his Margaret and his Adeline. Though these pieces deserve, +within certain limits, warm praise, they cannot be ranked as great poetry. +They are masterpieces of grace, but they want depth. The writer is himself +unmoved, and in consequence he leaves his readers equally calm. The same +holds true of the thought in these volumes. It is usually cold and +somewhat superficial. The critics, alive to these defects, were, it is +true, both incautious and unfair. The early volumes contained a few poems +showing no small force of mind, as well as a technical skill remarkable in +so young a man. They contained, in particular, <i>The Palace of Art</i> and <i>A +Dream of Fair Women</i>, both, even in their original shape, indubitably the +productions of a strong intellect. In them also we find the exquisite +<i>Lotos-Eaters</i>, with its wonderful melody, one of the most poetic poems +Tennyson ever wrote, and one<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> which, for suggestive beauty of thought as +well as for rhythm, ranks among the masterpieces of the English language.</p> + +<p>Tennyson then, judged by those early volumes, was a man who might prove to +be less gifted intellectually than artistically. He certainly had grace, +but it might be reasonably questioned whether he had much strength. On the +other hand, it might prove that the surface show of weakness was the fault +rather of the time than the man. For the production of truly great poetry +two things must co-operate,—great gifts in the individual, and a great +life in the community in which his lot is cast. Without the latter the +former will lie dormant, like the strength of Samson till the Philistines +are upon him. Now, this is exactly what has been described as the position +of matters when Tennyson began to write. The old impulse which had stirred +the giants of the Revolution was failing or was undergoing transformation; +the new impulse was only beginning to be felt.</p> + +<p>As the poet was, so to speak, in the balance, his next publication is an +object of special interest. He had taken plenty of time; and an interval +of nine years, considerable at any time of life, is great in the space +between twenty and thirty. He had moreover undergone a great personal +sorrow in the death of his friend Hallam. If any change was ever to take +place in his work it might be expected now. And we do find a great change, +partly in the tone of the new poems, and hardly less in the omissions and +revisions of the old. The purely trivial pieces are not reprinted. It is +hardly less instructive to note that in the lighter pieces which are +retained the changes made are comparatively slight; for they were already +nearly perfect of their kind. Very different is the treatment of the more +weighty poems. Tennyson evidently felt that he had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> been less successful +with these; and accordingly he freely revised all, and nearly rewrote some +of them. The new pieces present similar evidence of development. The poet +is still an artist first of all, but in a large proportion of the pieces +he is a thinker as well. The whole tone of these volumes is therefore more +thoughtful and more profoundly serious than that of their predecessors. +<i>Ulysses</i>, <i>Locksley Hall</i>, <i>Morte d’Arthur</i> and the <i>Vision of Sin</i> may +be mentioned as typical of the new work. Edward FitzGerald thought that +Tennyson never rose above, nor even equalled, the poems of 1842; and, if +we judge by the perfect balance of thought and expression, much might be +said in defence of this view. At any rate, he had proved himself a poet +who must be taken seriously, and it is from this date that we may regard +his position among the greater English poets as assured. We have glimpses +of artistic ideals to be realised and of intellectual problems to be +solved. On the artistic side, the ideals are fundamentally a development +from Keats, but they are a development by an original genius. On the +intellectual side, <i>Locksley Hall</i> presents social problems, and the +<i>Vision of Sin</i> raises moral and religious difficulties similar, it is +true, in essence to those which men had discussed in former days, but seen +in the light of the poet’s own time.</p> + +<p>Hitherto Tennyson’s pieces had all been short. In 1847 he published his +first long poem, the medley of <i>The Princess</i>. This serio-comic production +on what is called ‘the woman question’ will probably not hold for long a +high place among Tennyson’s works. The main body of it contains no great +illuminating thought. The reflexions upon the position of women and the +relations of the sexes are not beyond the range of an intelligence +considerably short of genius, and the jest and earnest are not very +happily mingled. The poem is remarkable rather for fine passages<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> than for +greatness as a whole. In point of length it was the most important +experiment Tennyson had yet made in the most difficult but most flexible +form of English metre, blank verse. There is however no part of <i>The +Princess</i> of similar length which can be ranked as equal to <i>Morte +d’Arthur</i>; and its best feature, the lyrics between the parts, were a +subsequent addition. But whatever may be the intrinsic merit of <i>The +Princess</i>, it is valuable as a symptom. The poet who had at first held so +far aloof from the interests of everyday life is now found devoting his +longest work to a social question of the day. He is at least endeavouring +to be what Sir Henry Taylor says the great poet must be, a philosopher as +well as an artist. If ‘art for art’s sake’ be the proper creed of the +poet, then Tennyson is wrong, and he remains wrong all the rest of his +life. We must rank him among those poets who seek to base their work on an +intellectual foundation, not among those who hold that feeling alone is +sufficient. He seeks to see Truth as well as Beauty, instead of resting +satisfied, like Keats, with their ultimate identity.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Robert Browning<br />(1812-1889).</div> + +<p>Robert Browning is the only poet of that time who can be placed beside +Tennyson, and it is only in respect of greatness that the two can be +conjoined; for in the great features of his poetry Browning stands apart, +not only from Tennyson, but from all contemporary writers. The Browning +family were dissenters in religion, and in those days dissenters were to a +large extent cut off from society and from the usual course of education. +The young poet went to no public school, and his higher education was +given not at Oxford or Cambridge, but in the University of London, +afterwards University College. There he remained only one year, and the +travels on the continent which followed were unquestionably more important +for his intellectual<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> development. On his return he settled down to a +literary life, and, notwithstanding narrow means and want of appreciation, +became a poet by profession. His works consequently are the landmarks of +his life. The most important event, outside the record of his +publications, is his marriage in 1846 to Elizabeth Moulton Barrett, who +was already known as a poetess. This union is unique in the records of +English literature, and indeed, it would be hardly too much to say, of all +literature. It has been said that men of genius usually marry commonplace +wives. The two Brownings were, the one certainly among the greatest of +nineteenth century poets, the other generally regarded as the greatest of +English poetesses. The health of Mrs. Browning necessitated their living +abroad; and the works of both bear deep marks of the influence of their +long residence of fifteen years at Florence.</p> + +<p>Browning, like Tennyson, lived and worked all through the present period, +and far beyond its lower limit; but, unlike Tennyson, he neither +illustrates in his own writings the characteristic influence of the time, +nor did he in the early years make any deep mark upon it. One reason for +his escape from the influence was that his interests were during those +years more purely intellectual than those of any other poet. He had +moreover a native buoyancy which saved him from the paralysing effect of +disappointment and of fading hopes. He was an idealistic optimist born +into a world where pessimism, or faith only in material prosperity and +material progress, prevailed. Hence we find that from the start his works, +unlike those of Tennyson or his contemporaries in general, were +characterised by an even extravagant largeness of design. His first work, +<i>Pauline</i> (1833), though it contains more than one thousand lines, is a +mere fragment of a most ambitious scheme, which the poet afterwards +admitted to have been far beyond his strength. <i>Paracelsus</i>,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> <i>Sordello</i>, +<i>Strafford</i>, and the other dramas, all exhibit a similar boldness. While +the other poets of the time had to be slowly made conscious of their +strength and encouraged to undertake great things, Browning had by degrees +to become aware of the limits of his powers, and to learn that he must +reach through small things up to great. It was after what we may call an +apprenticeship in the shorter dramatic monologue, such as we find in +<i>Dramatic Romances</i>, <i>Dramatic Lyrics</i> and <i>Men and Women</i>, that he +achieved his greatest triumph, <i>The Ring and the Book</i>.</p> + +<p><i>Pauline</i> is interesting chiefly for the evidence it presents of the +poet’s early tastes. Shelley was the poet to whom in this piece he owed +most; but Shelley’s genius was not in harmony with Browning’s, and +afterwards his influence vanished almost as completely as did that of +Byron from the works of Tennyson. <i>Pauline</i> was followed by <i>Paracelsus</i> +(1835), a poem in which the writer seemed to spring all at once to the +full maturity of his powers. He failed however to maintain his ground. +<i>Strafford</i> (1837) was the first of a series of dramas published between +that year and 1846, when the last number of <i>Bells and Pomegranates</i>, +containing <i>Luria</i> and <i>A Soul’s Tragedy</i>, appeared. Browning never +afterwards attempted the drama proper, for <i>In a Balcony</i>, first published +among <i>Men and Women</i>, is rather a dramatic episode than a drama. Besides +the dramas, there had appeared during those years <i>Sordello</i> (1840), the +most enigmatical poem Browning ever wrote. Despite the beauty of the +descriptive passages in the poem, it may be questioned whether the enigma +is worth the trouble of solution; at any rate, all the ingenuity bestowed +upon it has not yet suggested a satisfactory explanation. There had +appeared also, as parts of the series of <i>Bells and Pomegranates</i>, +<i>Dramatic Lyrics</i> (1842) and <i>Dramatic<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> Romances and Lyrics</i> (1845). +<i>Pippa Passes</i> (1841) is sometimes misleadingly classed as a drama. It is +far more closely akin to the dramatic romances and dramatic lyrics.</p> + +<p>The decade between <i>Strafford</i> and <i>A Soul’s Tragedy</i> may be described +then as, for Browning, a period of dramatic experiment. The result was to +demonstrate that, though his genius was in some respects intensely +dramatic, he was not fitted to write for the stage. His failure is all the +more remarkable because of his keen interest in character and his great +success, under certain conditions, in understanding and interpreting it. +The question naturally arises whether there is any connexion between +Browning’s failure and the often noted incapacity of the present century +to nourish a dramatic literature. This incapacity is conspicuous in the +preceding period as well as in that now under discussion. Scott failed +completely as a dramatist. The once great reputation of Joanna Baillie has +withered away. The dramas of Byron are striking, but their centre is +always George Gordon. Shelley succeeded once, in <i>The Cenci</i>; for, great +as is <i>Prometheus Unbound</i>, its greatness is not dramatic. With respect to +the present period, the most convincing proof of the scarcity of dramatic +talent is the fact that there is no need to devote a separate section to +the criticism of this form of literature. To most writers the drama has +been a mere interlude among other literary work, and this in spite of the +fact that fiction alone can compare with it in respect of the material +rewards it offers. Almost the sole exception, among those who can be +regarded as rising into the ranks of literature, is James Sheridan Knowles +who belongs more to the preceding period than to this. As literature, his +plays are far from remarkable. His tragedies are of little interest, and +his comedies, while ingenious, are pieces of skilful mechanism<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> rather +than works inspired by the poetic spirit. Men like Tom Taylor and James +Robinson Planché and Douglas Jerrold, gifted with fluency, and capable of +writing as many dramas as the theatres might demand, have a place only in +ephemeral literature. Even better men, such as Thomas Noon Talfourd +(1795-1854) and John Westland Marston (1819-1890), hold but a low position +in its annals. The cold dignity of Talfourd’s style hardly atones for the +commonplace character of his thought; and Marston betrays an incapacity, +fatal in a dramatist, to draw clear and consistent characters. Henry +Taylor, who ranks much higher, will be considered elsewhere. As a rule, +such drama as there is in the period comes under names more conspicuous in +other departments. Great as are his literary defects, Bulwer Lytton is +pretty nearly the best in the dramatic list; and, like Charles Reade, he +is a novelist first and a dramatist only in the second place.</p> + +<p>In some of these cases it might be fairly urged that the cause of failure +is want of dramatic talent in the man himself; but this does not explain +the strange fact that in one age, the Elizabethan, nearly all writers +should prove themselves capable of producing dramas, always respectable +and often great; while in another, our own, no one, except Tennyson in his +old age, has written a drama that is likely to rank permanently among the +treasures of literature. We can only account for this by the operation of +the law of development in literature. We observe, in point of fact, that +particular literary forms flourish at particular times. We observe, +further, that in ancient Greece and in modern France and Spain, as well as +in England, the golden age of the drama is neither at the beginning nor at +the end, and that in each case it coincides with a period of great +national activity and exaltation. The fact is susceptible of a +psychological explanation. The drama requires an even balance<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> between the +spirit of action and the spirit of reflexion. On the one hand, we can +hardly conceive of the drama being as naïve as the poems of Homer; on the +other hand, the growth of self-consciousness is apt to interfere, as it +did in Byron’s case, with true dramatic portraiture.</p> + +<p>Herein we find the secret of Browning’s failure. Though he rightly +proclaimed that all his poetry was ‘dramatic in principle,’ yet he never +wrote a successful drama. The reason is that in him the spirit of +reflexion predominates unduly over the spirit of action. In his plays the +action stagnates, because he has no interest in it. All his wealth of +intellect is devoted to the unfolding of motive and inner feeling, +because, little as he cares for what a man does, he cares very much for +what he <i>is</i> and <i>why</i> he does it. The characters therefore, in Browning’s +mode of conception, are seen individually, each in himself; they are not +developed, in accordance with the true dramatic method, by mutual +interaction. Hence too it comes that Browning’s stage is never more than +half filled, and that even of the sparse <i>dramatis personæ</i> only one as a +rule, or at most two or three, are brought out with tolerable fulness of +detail.</p> + +<p>In the dramas then we may say that Browning was merely learning what he +could not do. Side by side with them he was doing work which taught him +what he could do eminently well. His name is associated, more than that of +any other poet, with the dramatic monologue. Excluding the regular dramas, +nearly all his work of the period under consideration is either dramatic +monologue or closely akin to it. <i>Pippa Passes</i> is only slightly +different, a series of dramatic scenes, bound together by a lyric thread +and by the character and doings of the girl Pippa. Most of the <i>Dramatic +Lyrics</i> and <i>Dramatic Romances</i> are pure monologues. <i>Paracelsus</i> may be +described as modified monologue. And not only during these years, but +throughout<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> his life, Browning’s success depended principally upon two +things; first, on the fidelity with which he kept to monologue; and +secondly, on his remembrance of the fact that the poet must be not only +intellectual, but artistic. With few exceptions Browning’s greatest +things—in <i>Men and Women</i>, in <i>Dramatis Personæ</i> and in <i>The Ring and the +Book</i>, as well as in the works above named—are monologues in which he +bears this fact in mind. With few exceptions his failures in later days +are due to the fact that he forgets the poet in the philosopher.</p> + +<p>Reasons may easily be found to account for the fact that dramatic +monologue proved so much more suitable to the genius of Browning than +either the regular drama or any other form of verse. It gave scope to his +interest in character, without demanding of him that interest in action +which he only showed spasmodically. Moreover, it suited his analytic +method. For Browning is not, like Shakespeare, an intuitive but a +reflective artist. His delineations are the result of a conscious mental +process; and hence he can hardly call up more than one character at a +time. Further, he does not care to trace character through a train of +events. His pictures are usually limited to moments of time, to single +moods. They reveal the inner depth seen through some crisis in life; and +therefore, though they are highly impressive, they do not exhibit growth. +Now, for purposes such as these the monologue is admirably adapted. It +leaves the poet free to choose his own moment, to begin when he likes and +end when he likes; and this is essential to the effect of many of +Browning’s poems, as for instance <i>In a Gondola</i> and <i>The Lost Mistress</i>. +It explains likewise the extraordinary suddenness of his style, which is +one among the many causes of the difficulty so often felt in understanding +him. There is no preparation, no working up to the crisis. The scene +opens<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> abruptly on some tempest of the soul, and the reader has to +penetrate the mystery amidst thunder-claps and lightning-flashes. Yet the +method does not always give rise to difficulty. There is no better example +of it in Browning than the magnificent sketch of <i>Ottima and Sebald</i> in +<i>Pippa Passes</i>. It is not a monologue, for there are two interlocutors; +but they stand isolated from all the world, bound together by crime, and +are seen only in their moment of supreme tension. Yet everything is so +clear that dulness itself could hardly mistake the meaning.</p> + +<p><i>Paracelsus</i> is so much the most important of the works of this period +that it demands separate notice. Although several characters appear in the +course of it the method is fundamentally that of monologue. The whole +interest is concentrated on the fortunes and spiritual development of +Paracelsus; but in this instance they are followed through a life. The +poem may be described as a poetical treatise on the necessity of a union +of love with knowledge and of feeling with thought. But though loaded with +reflexion it never, like Browning’s later works, ceases to be poetical, +and it must be ranked very nearly at the head of its author’s writings. +The intellectual theory of the universe which underlies all Browning’s +poetry is never afterwards as fairly stated, nor are the difficulties as +fully faced, as in <i>Paracelsus</i>. It has the advantage therefore, not only +as poetry but also as philosophy, over the works written after <i>The Ring +and the Book</i>.</p> + +<p>Boldness of design then, and an even excessive opulence of intellect, were +from the first the characteristics of Browning. He did not acquire them, +they were his birthright. Carlyle stood out from among his contemporaries +by virtue of conquests won through toil and pain, Browning entered into +his inheritance at once and without effort. The one might have said, like +the chief captain,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> “With a great sum obtained I this freedom;” and the +other might have answered, with St. Paul, “But I was free born.” Yet the +advantage was not all on one side. Carlyle had the deeper sympathy with +the difficulties of the time, and laborious as was his way upwards he had +far more power over his own generation than Browning. The latter was for +many years one of the least popular of poets, and what influence he +possessed operated slowly and unseen. It was men of less vigorous +intellect who stamped their character upon this early part of the period.</p> + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III.</h2> +<p class="center"><span class="large">THE MINOR POETS, 1830 to 1850.</span></p> + +<p>The view presented in the last chapter is that even Tennyson in his early +works displays the qualities to be expected in a time of lowered energy, +and gradually, by native force, rises superior to its limits. If this view +be sound we should expect the characteristics in question to be much more +prominent in lesser men. And this we find to be the case. Besides Tennyson +himself and his brothers, the principal poets who had begun to write +before 1830, and who may be taken as representative of the early years of +the period, were: Letitia Elizabeth Landon, Mrs. Hemans, Elizabeth Moulton +Barrett, Thomas Hood, Henry Taylor, and William Motherwell. We may include +also Winthrop Mackworth Praed, for, though his poems were not collected +and published till long afterwards, a number of them were written before +this date. The <i>Poems</i> of Hartley Coleridge came a little later; and in +the last year of the decade then beginning Philip James Bailey won by the +long and ambitious poem of <i>Festus</i>, a great reputation which has for many +years been fading away.</p> + +<p>These writers are unusually hard to classify, because of the absence of +any dominant note or of any absorbing interest. The two women first named, +Mrs. Hemans and ‘L. E. L.,’ belong rather to the preceding period, though +they overlap this. Both are sentimentalists, and time has<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> taken from +their work the charm it once possessed. Mrs. Hemans is now unduly +depreciated, but the difference between the most favourable and the least +favourable critic can only be with regard to the degree of weakness +charged against her. L. E. Landon (1802-1838), who became by marriage Mrs. +Maclean, was in her own day even more popular than Mrs. Hemans, but she +has since been much more completely forgotten. Even the mystery of her +death, which was believed by many to be due to foul play, but which in all +probability occurred through misadventure, has failed to keep alive the +interest in her. Yet, though her verse is of little value, she is one of +the best examples of the tendencies of the time. She followed Byron as far +as her talents and the restraints of her sex would allow. Her longer poems +are on the whole poor; some of her shorter pieces are very readable, but +they are chargeable with the fault of an excess of rhetoric. Such as she +was in poetry, her work was mostly done before 1830. After that date she +wrote some mediocre prose stories, but was comparatively inactive in +verse.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Charles Tennyson Turner<br />(1808-1879).</div> + +<p>Both of Tennyson’s brothers, Charles and Frederick, were, like himself, +poets. It has but recently become known that Frederick as well as Charles +had a share in the <i>Poems by Two Brothers</i>. Except for this the eldest +brother’s publications were of much later date; but Charles Tennyson, +afterwards Charles Tennyson Turner, followed up the joint venture with +another of his own, a slim volume of <i>Sonnets and Fugitive Pieces</i>, +published in 1830. This attracted the attention of Coleridge, who bestowed +warm but discriminating praise upon the sonnets. Both as to fame, and +probably as to his own productiveness, Charles Tennyson Turner was +crushed, as it were, under his greater brother. He wrote little more, +though he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> carefully revised and in some respects decidedly improved his +sonnets. It is by virtue of them that he takes his place among English +poets. They are graceful and sweet, but the substance is not always worthy +of the form. They reveal everywhere the interests and the pursuits of the +Vicar of Grasby, and they are honourable to his peaceful piety. It is +evident that both Charles and Frederick Tennyson, and especially the +latter, might have been disposed to adapt to themselves the humorous +complaint of the second Duke of Wellington, and exclaim, ‘What can a man +do with such a brother?’ Though the eldest of the three, Mr. Frederick +Tennyson belongs by the date of his publications rather to the period +after than to the period before 1870.</p> + +<p>Of the other writers, Praed, accomplished and exceedingly clever, but +never impelled to do anything really great, may be regarded as a victim of +the prevalent want of purpose. So may Hood, in respect of that section of +his works which naturally goes along with those of Praed. Hood, it is +true, was too great a man to be dismissed as merely a writer of the +transition; yet, just because of his greatness, his history shows better +than that of any other man how earnestness was discouraged and triviality +fostered. Seldom have so great poetic gifts been so squandered—with no +dishonour to Hood—on mere puns. The poet, as an early critic pointed out, +was a man of essentially serious mind; but he had to earn bread for +himself and his children, and as jesting paid, while serious poetry did +not, he was compelled to jest.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Thomas Hood<br />(1799-1845).</div> + +<p>Thomas Hood inherited from a consumptive family a feeble constitution, and +the latter part of his life was a gallant but painful struggle against +disease. His literary life began in 1821, when he was made ‘a sort of +sub-editor’ of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> <i>London Magazine</i>. <i>Lycus the Centaur</i>, a boldly +imaginative piece for so young a man, appeared in 1822. <i>The Plea of the +Midsummer Fairies</i>, a fine specimen of graceful fancy deservedly ranked +high by himself, and the powerful and terrible <i>Eugene Aram’s Dream</i>, were +likewise early pieces. The latter may be contrasted for its treatment of +crime with Bulwer Lytton’s well-known novel on the story of the same +murderer. The advantage in imaginative force and insight, as well as in +moral wholesomeness, is all on the side of Hood.</p> + +<p>These pieces prove that the vein of serious poetry was present from the +first in Hood. The vein of jest and pun was equally natural to him. Jokes +of all kinds, practical and other, enlivened and sometimes distracted his +own household. This liking for fun inspired the <i>Odes and Addresses to +Great People</i>, written in conjunction with John Hamilton Reynolds, the +<i>Whims and Oddities</i>, and the succession of <i>Comic Annuals</i>, the first of +which appeared in 1830. The presence of such a light and playful element +in a great man’s work is by no means to be regretted; but in Hood’s case, +unfortunately, there was for many years little else. Hood was blameless, +for he had to live. With characteristic modesty he seems for a time to +have been persuaded that the public were right, and that nature meant him +for a professional jester. It was fortunate that he lived to change this +opinion, for much of his finest poetry belongs to his closing years.</p> + +<p>Perhaps the most original fruit of Hood’s genius is <i>Miss Kilmansegg</i>, +which conceals under a grotesque exterior deep feeling and effective +satire. It has been sometimes ranked as Hood’s greatest work; and if +comparison be made with his longer pieces only, or if we look principally +to the uniqueness of the poem, the judgment will hardly be disputed; but +probably the popular instinct which has<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> seized upon <i>The Song of the +Shirt</i> and <i>The Bridge of Sighs</i>, and the criticism which exalts <i>The +Haunted House</i>, are in this instance sounder. The grotesque element cannot +be employed freely without damage to the pure poetic beauty of the piece +in which it occurs; and <i>Miss Kilmansegg</i> certainly does suffer such +damage.</p> + +<p>The <i>Song of the Shirt</i> and <i>The Bridge of Sighs</i> are by far the most +popular of Hood’s poems. They have the great merit of perfect truth of +feeling. Handling subjects which tempt to sentiment, and even to that +excess of sentiment known in the language of slang as ‘gush,’ they are +wholly free from anything false or weak or merely lachrymose. Pity makes +the verse, but it is the pity of a manly man. <i>The Haunted House</i>, first +published in the opening number of <i>Hood’s Magazine</i>, stands at the head +of the writer’s poetry of pure imagination. Few pieces can rival it for +eeriness of impression, and few exhibit such delicate skill in the choice +of details in description. The centipede, the spider, the maggots, the +emmets, the bats, the rusty armour and the tattered flags, all help to +deepen the sense of desolation and decay. This piece, with the more +serious ones already mentioned, and a few others, such as <i>Ruth</i> and <i>The +Death-Bed</i>, are Hood’s best title to fame. The growth in their relative +number as time went on, the increasing wealth of imagination and the +greater flexibility of verse, all show that Hood was to the end a +progressive poet. If he had lived longer and enjoyed better health his +fame might have been very great. He was the victim of the transition, and +through tardiness of recognition and the want of any influence to draw him +out, he failed to leave a sufficient body of pure and great poetry to +sustain permanently a high reputation. As the author of a few pieces with +the unmistakable note of poetry he can never be quite forgotten.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Laman Blanchard<br />(1804-1845).</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span>Passing mention may be accorded along with Hood to Laman Blanchard, a very +minor poet, who showed the same combination of seriousness with fun. He +was an agreeable writer, but not, even at his best, a distinguished one.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Winthrop Mackworth Praed<br />(1802-1839).</div> + +<p>The man of closest affinity to Hood was Winthrop Mackworth Praed, who +began by contributing at school to <i>The Etonian</i>, and continued at +Cambridge to write for Knight’s <i>Quarterly Magazine</i>. He entered +Parliament, and if he had lived he would probably have risen to eminence +there. Praed belongs to the class of writers of <i>vers de société</i> of which +Prior is the earlier and Locker-Lampson the later master; and it is not +too much to say that he surpasses both. It is a species of verse well +adapted to such a period as that in which Praed lived. Great earnestness +is not required, and is even fatal to it. The qualities essential to +success are culture, good-breeding, wit and lightness of touch. Praed had +them all. The cleverness and wit and delicacy which nature had given him +were all increased by the influence of his school and university, where he +acquired all the grace of scholarship without any of the ponderosity of +learning. But Praed had one more gift, without which his verses must have +taken a lower place—the gift of a refined poetic fancy. It is this that +gives his wit its special charm, and it is this too that saves his verse +from being that merely of a very clever and refined jester. The well-known +character of <i>The Vicar</i> is one of the best examples of this combination +of feeling with lightness. Herein we detect the difference between Praed’s +wit and the wit of Hood. The latter commonly separated jest from earnest, +and gave himself wholly over to one or the other. He is far the more +pronounced punster. The pleasant surprises<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> of Praed’s verse usually arise +from some delicate turn of thought rather than from a twisting of words. +Hood’s fun is sometimes almost boisterous, Praed’s is never so. As regards +the lighter verse, the advantage on comparison is all on the side of the +younger man. But there is no other aspect to Praed. Notwithstanding the +undertone of seriousness, notwithstanding too the strange power of that +masterpiece of the grotesque, <i>The Red Fisherman</i>, it remains doubtful +whether he had the capacity to be more than what he is, the prince of +elegant and refined writers of light verse. Hood is indubitably a poet.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Richard Monckton Milnes, Lord Houghton<br />(1809-1885).</div> + +<p>It is likewise as a writer of <i>vers de société</i> that Richard Monckton +Milnes, Lord Houghton, is best known, and is happiest. But though he +shines as a writer of what may be called, without disparagement, poetical +trifles, there is also a serious strain by no means contemptible in his +verse. <i>Strangers Yet</i> is a fine specimen of pathos. In <i>Poems, Legendary +and Historical</i>, however, Houghton is less successful, and the best of +them do not bear comparison with Aytoun’s <i>Lays of the Scottish +Cavaliers</i>, which belong to the same class. Houghton’s critical work in +prose is on the whole more valuable than his verse, for there his culture +told, and the lack of high imagination is less felt.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Richard Harris Barham<br />(1788-1845).</div> + +<p>Richard Harris Barham represents a type of humour much broader than that +of Praed. His <i>Ingoldsby Legends</i> have enjoyed a popularity wider, +probably, than that of any other humorous verse of the century. They are +clever, rapid in narrative, and resourceful in phrase and in rhyme. Yet a +certain want of delicacy in the wit and of melody in the verse is evident +when we compare them with the work of Hood and Praed, or that of such +later<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> humorists as Calverley, or J. K. Stephen, or Lewis Carroll. +Barham’s last composition, ‘As I laye a-thynkynge,’ contains the promise +of success if he had written serious poetry.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Hartley Coleridge<br />(1796-1849).</div> + +<p>Hartley Coleridge was a poet of a totally different type; and we must +ascribe the fact that he never redeemed his early promise to hereditary +weakness of will rather than to any adverse influence of the time. Against +the latter he had a defence that did not in the same measure shield any +other contemporary. He was the special inheritor of the great traditions +of the so-called Lake school; and he was cradled in poetry. His infancy +and childhood are celebrated both by his father and by Wordsworth. Derwent +Coleridge tells a story of his brother, which shows that Wordsworth +accurately described Hartley as one ‘whose fancies from afar are brought,’ +and who made ‘a mock apparel’ of his words. ‘Hartley, when about five +years old, was asked a question about himself being called Hartley. “Which +Hartley?” asked the boy. “Why! is there more than one Hartley?” “Yes,” he +replied, “there’s a deal of Hartleys.” “How so?” “There’s Picture-Hartley +(Hazlitt had painted a portrait of him) and Shadow-Hartley, and there’s +Echo-Hartley, and there’s Catch-me-fast Hartley”; at the same time seizing +his own arm very eagerly.’ Evidently this boy lived in a world of +day-dreams, in a ‘perpetual perspective.’ The problem of the education of +such a young idealist is a difficult one; but it seems clear that its +principle ought to have been a judicious, not a harsh or pedantic, +regularity. His father’s aspiration of ‘wandering like a breeze’ was not +for him. But instead, Hartley’s actual education was irregular and +desultory. Nothing was done to improve his natural defect and to +discipline his will; and weakness<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> of will wrecked his life. The +fellowship he had won at Oriel College was forfeited for intemperance, and +he never conquered the habit, but sank from depth to depth, a pitiable +example of genius gone to waste.</p> + +<p>Though Hartley Coleridge wrote prose as well, his name is now associated +only with his poems. A volume of these was published in 1833. It was +marked Vol. I., but no second ever appeared. The poems however were +re-edited, with additions, by Derwent Coleridge, in 1851. Hartley +Coleridge nowhere shows the supreme poetic gift his father possessed; but +as in sheer genius the elder Coleridge was probably superior to any +contemporary, so Hartley seems to have been the superior by endowment of +any poet then writing, Tennyson and Browning alone excepted. Weakness of +will, unfortunately, doomed him to excel only in short pieces, and to be +far from uniform in these. It would have been wiser to omit the section of +‘playful and humorous’ pieces. But the sonnets are very good, and some of +them are excellent. A few of the songs take an equally high rank, +especially the well-known <i>She is not fair to outward view</i>, and <i>’Tis +sweet to hear the merry lark</i>. There are many suggestions of Wordsworth, +but Hartley Coleridge is not an imitative poet. Without any striking +originality he is fresh and independent. His verse betrays a gentle and +kindly as well as a sensitive character. He evidently felt affection for +all living things, and especially for all that was weak, whether from +nature, age, or circumstance. Some of this feeling turns back, as it were, +upon himself, in the numerous and often pathetic poems in which he appears +to be contemplating his own history. He is of the school of Wordsworth in +his love for and his familiar communion with nature; and here at least he +gathered some fruit from the ‘unchartered freedom’ of his existence.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Sara Coleridge<br />(1802-1852).</div> + +<p>Hartley Coleridge belonged to a family unique in its<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> power of +transmitting genius. His sister Sara likewise inherited intellectual and +imaginative gifts probably little if at all inferior to his; but +circumstances prevented her from making a great name. She married another +Coleridge of genius, her cousin, Henry Nelson, whose untimely death threw +a burden upon her, as editor of her father’s literary remains, that +absorbed her time and energies. Her only book is <i>Phantasmion</i>, a fairy +tale, whose lyric snatches prove her worthy of remembrance among English +poetesses.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">William Motherwell<br />(1797-1835).</div> + +<p>Of the other poets who have been named, William Motherwell was the least +considerable both in achievement and in gifts. He had a taste for research +in old popular poetry, but he took such liberties that his versions are +not to be trusted. He also allowed the pseudo-antique to mar some of his +own work, especially the fine <i>Cavalier Song</i>. He is happiest in the vein +of pathetic Scotch verse, of which the best specimen he left is his +<i>Jeanie Morison</i>. He had the feeling and sensibility of a minor Burns, but +not the force. Contemporary with Motherwell and, on the Scotch side of his +work, not dissimilar, was William Thom (1798-1848), ‘the weaver poet,’ +best known for <i>The Blind Boy’s Pranks</i>. Dialect alone unites with these +two George Outram (1805-1856) a man little known out of Scotland, but, in +his best pieces, one of the most irresistibly humorous of comic poets. +Nothing but unfamiliarity with the legal processes and phrases on which +the wit frequently turns, prevents him from being widely popular. For rich +fun <i>The Annuity</i>, his masterpiece, has seldom been surpassed.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Henry Taylor<br />(1800-1886).</div> + +<p>Henry Taylor lifts us once more into a higher sphere of art. He lived an +even and unruffled life, the spirit of which seems to have passed into his +works. The son of a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> country gentleman, he procured an appointment in the +Colonial office, gradually rose in it, was knighted, and after nearly half +a century of service, retired in 1872. The comfortable and easy life of +office permitted Taylor to develop his powers to the uttermost. For a +greater man its very smoothness might have been damaging. Great poetry +requires passion: either the passion of the emotional nature, or that +passion of thought which, as Mr. William Watson has lately reminded the +world, is no less valuable for the purposes of art. Official life fosters +neither; but it would seem that Sir Henry Taylor’s nature contained the +germ of neither. Hence perhaps, in part, his disapproval of the school of +Byron. His practice would have been as excellent as his theory had he been +one of those who know</p> + +<p class="poem">‘A deeper transport and a mightier thrill<br /> +Than comes of commerce with mortality.’</p> + +<p>But he was wanting in the second kind of passion, as well as in the first. +His work is like his life, smooth, calm, unchargeable with faults; but it +is not the kind that animates mankind.</p> + +<p>Sir Henry Taylor wrote prose as well as verse, in particular a very +readable autobiography. It is however chiefly as a dramatist that he is +memorable. His plays are the closet studies of a cultured man of letters, +who knew little and cared little about the conditions of the stage. <i>Isaac +Comnenus</i> (1827) was followed by his masterpiece, <i>Philip Van Artevelde</i> +(1834). <i>Edwin the Fair</i> appeared in 1842, and his last play, <i>St. +Clement’s Eve</i>, in 1862. He also wrote one other piece, <i>A Sicilian +Summer</i>, a kind of comedy, not very successful.</p> + +<p><i>Philip Van Artevelde</i> is so clearly Taylor’s best work that his literary +faculty may be judged, certainly without<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> danger of depreciation, from it +alone. It is a historical drama, and the title sufficiently indicates the +age and country in which the scene is laid. The whole drama is long, and +the slow movement adapts it rather for reading than for representation. It +is composed of two parts, separated by <i>The Lay of Elena</i>, a lyrical piece +in which may be detected echoes both of Wordsworth and Coleridge, with an +occasional suggestion of Scott. The weakest element of the drama is the +treatment of passion. Taylor’s incapacity to comprehend it is strikingly +illustrated in the passage where Philip, immediately after his declaration +of love to Elena, reflects upon the caprice of a woman’s fancy which</p> + +<p class="poem"><span style="margin-left: 6em;">‘Takes no distinction but of sex,</span><br /> +And ridicules the very name of choice.’</p> + +<p>The thought is a little trite, and the words are extraordinary in the +mouth of a newly-accepted lover. We may confidently look to Taylor for +careful and workmanlike delineation of character, but we shall find in him +no profound insight. Philip proses about the burden he takes up and the +cares he endures. But notwithstanding defects, the interest is fairly well +sustained, some of the situations are impressive, and the verse is +frequently lit with flashes of imaginative power. A man of talent with a +touch of genius, Taylor saw clearly what the poetry of his time needed, +but for want of the ‘passion of thought’ he failed to supply it.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Philip James Bailey<br />(1816-1902).</div> + +<p>One contemporary at least showed by his practice that he agreed with +Taylor as to the necessity of setting poetry on a philosophical basis. +Philip James Bailey published <i>Festus</i> in 1839. It has been the work of +his life, for though he wrote other pieces afterwards, most of them have +been<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> incorporated, wholly or in part, with <i>Festus</i>. The consequence is +that the poem, long originally, has grown to enormous dimensions. It is an +ambitious attempt to settle all the fundamental problems of the universe, +and it was once hailed with a chorus of praise that would almost have +sufficed for Homer or Milton. This praise remains one of the curiosities +of criticism for later days to marvel at. <i>Festus</i> is not profound +philosophy, and still less is it true poetry. The thought when probed is +commonplace. A vigorous expression here and there is hardly enough to +redeem the weak echoes of Goethe and Byron. Frequently the verse is +distinguishable from prose only by the manner of printing. ‘Swearers and +swaggerers jeer at my name’ is supposed to be an iambic line. We are told +that a thing is in our ‘soul-blood’ and our ‘soul-bones;’ and we hear of +‘marmoreal floods’ that ‘spread their couch of perdurable snow.’ Yet this +passes for poetry, and <i>Festus</i> has gone through many editions in this +country, and still more in America. The aberration of taste is not quite +as great as that which raised Martin Farquhar Tupper and his <i>Proverbial +Philosophy</i> to the highest popularity, but it is similar in kind.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Richard Hengist Horne<br />(1803-1884).</div> + +<p>A more interesting and far superior example of the class of thoughtful +poets was Richard Henry, or, as he called himself in later life, Richard +Hengist Horne. Horne was a man of versatile talent who, after an +adventurous youth in which he saw something of warfare and passed through +many adventures on the coasts of America and, at a later date, in the +Australian bush, settled down to a literary life. His first memorable +works were two tragedies, <i>Cosmo de’ Medici</i> and <i>The Death of Marlowe</i>, +both published in the year 1837. A third tragedy, <i>Gregory VII.</i>, appeared +in 1840. Horne’s dramas are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> thoughtful, and they have the vigour which +marked his own character. Yet Horne seems to have felt that there was +something not wholly satisfactory in his dramatic work, and, except <i>Judas +Iscariot</i> (1848), his more noteworthy writings in later days are either +prose, or lyrical verse, or epic blank verse. He is best known by <i>Orion, +an Epic Poem</i> (1843). It is an epic with a philosophic groundwork, +‘intended,’ as the author himself explains, ‘to work out a special design, +applicable to all time, by means of antique or classical imagery and +associations.... Orion, the hero of my fable, is meant to present a type +of the struggle of man with himself, <i>i.e.</i>, the contest between the +intellect and the senses.’ Horne sarcastically hinted his sense of the +improbability that such a poem would find a sale by publishing the first +three editions at a farthing, with the explanation that he did so ‘to +avoid the trouble and greatly additional expense of forwarding +presentation copies.’</p> + +<p><i>Orion</i> is Horne’s masterpiece. The philosophic thought clogs the epic +movement, but the thought is weighty enough, and expressed with sufficient +terseness and force, to be worthy of attention for its own sake. The verse +is almost always good and sometimes excellent. Horne is indebted more to +Keats than to anyone else. Sometimes he appears to echo him consciously; +at other times the reminiscence is probably unconscious. But as Horne was +always a bold and original thinker his discipleship was altogether good +for him. The sonorous quality of his verse is partly due to his model; the +meaning remains his own.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">William Barnes<br />(1801-1886).</div> + +<p>Another true poet whose work belongs largely to this early period was +William Barnes, author of <i>Poems of Rural Life in the Dorset Dialect</i>. +This collection, published in 1879, and embracing the work of more than +forty years,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> may be said to sum up his literary life; for, though he +wrote prose as well as poetry, it is only by his verses in dialect that he +has any chance to be remembered. Barnes began writing his Dorset poems in +1833, and continued to do so at intervals all through his life. The great +charm of his poetry is its perfect freshness. The Dorset poems are +eclogues, wholly free from the artificiality which commonly mars +compositions of that class; they are clear, simple, rapid and natural. +There is no affectation of profound thought, and no straining after +passion, but a wholly unaffected love for the country and all that lives +and grows there. The vital importance of language to poetry is nowhere +more clearly seen than in Barnes, for all the spirit of the Dorset poems +evaporates, and all the colour fades from the specimens the poet was +induced to publish in literary English.</p> + +<p>There were numerous inferior writers, a few of whom claim a passing +notice. James Clarence Mangan (1803-1849) is one of those Irishmen with +regard to whose work a wide difference of opinion exists between his +countrymen and English critics. He had certainly an ear for verse and a +gift for making it, and if his equipment of ideas had been proportionate +he would have been a great poet. His weakness is that, while he can say +things pleasantly, he has but little to say. Charles Whitehead (1804-1862) +was one of those who attempted dramatic composition, but his best work was +<i>The Solitary</i> (1831), a reflective poem in the Spenserian stanza, +thoughtful but slow in movement, and as a whole somewhat tiring. Thomas +Wade (1805-1875) was likewise a mediocre dramatist, whose name is now +associated only with <i>Mundi et Cordis Carmina</i>, a book which bears many +traces of the influence of Shelley.</p> + +<p>Ebenezer Jones (1820-1860) also, though much younger<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> than these men, +falls, by reason of his principal work, <i>Studies of Sensation and Event</i> +(1843), within the same period. Jones was crushed by circumstances and the +want of appreciation, otherwise his sensitive nature might have produced +good, though hardly great poetry.</p> + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV.</h2> +<p class="center"><span class="large">THE EARLIER FICTION.</span></p> + +<p>The characteristic literary form of the last two generations has been the +novel. After a certain interval Scott was followed zealously, and by +constantly increasing numbers; so that for every novelist who was writing +in the first decade of the century, there were probably ten in the fourth; +and, as the great increase of readers has been principally in the readers +of fiction, the growth has naturally continued down to the present day. No +one can believe that this immense preponderance of fiction has been +altogether wholesome. It is questionable whether the novel is capable of +producing the highest results in art; certainly we do not find in prose +fiction the equivalent of <i>Hamlet</i> or of <i>Faust</i>, of the <i>Iliad</i> or the +<i>Divine Comedy</i>. It may be that the Shakespeare of novelists has not yet +come; but it may also be that the form is inherently inferior to the drama +and the epic. The latter is the conclusion suggested by the fact that of +all kinds of imaginative art the novel is the one which has least +permanence. Novels are like light wine in respect that, while pleasant to +the taste, they do not keep long; they resemble it too in the fact that a +man may read much, as the disappointed toper found he could drink much, +without making great progress. Notwithstanding the hostility, avouched by +Horace, of gods and men and booksellers to the mediocre poet, the +versifier<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> who has just a little of the poetic spirit is, after two or +three generations, far more readable than the merely competent novelist. +There are few literary experiences more melancholy than to turn to an old +novel, once famous, but not quite the work of genius. Moreover, the novel +has yielded more than any other form of literature to certain influences +of the time inimical to high art. It is in fiction above all that the +periodical system of publication has been adopted; and we can trace its +evil effects in the work even of men like Thackeray and Dickens. The novel +tends at the best to looseness of structure, and periodical publication +fosters the tendency.</p> + +<p>In at least one other way the influence of the novel must have been partly +evil. The gains of literature have been to an altogether disproportionate +extent showered upon novelists; and the ordinary laws of human action +force us to believe that some talent must have been thus diverted to +fiction which would have been better employed otherwise. Theologians like +Newman and historians like Froude are tempted from their own domain into +the field of fiction. Yet on the other hand it must be said that the +greater writers have been on the whole remarkably faithful to their true +vocation. The leading novelists are those whose talents find freest scope +in fiction. Historians, philosophers, novelists, poets, the great men +everywhere remain what nature intended them to be. Still, the evil, though +not as great as it might have been expected to be, is real. Matthew +Arnold, it is said, ceased to write verse because he could not afford it. +But for the absorption of the mass of readers in fiction he probably could +have afforded it.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">William Maginn<br />(1793-1842).</div> + +<p>In the year 1830 literature in general, but especially fiction and the +more fugitive forms both of verse and prose, received a notable stimulus +from the establishment of <i>Fraser’s Magazine</i>. The idea of the magazine +originated<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> with William Maginn and a Bohemian acquaintance of his, Hugh +Fraser, from whom, and not from the publisher James Fraser, it received +its name. Maginn had been a contributor to <i>Blackwood</i>, and partly through +his connexions with its staff he soon drew around him a band as brilliant +as that of <i>Blackwood</i> itself. Coleridge, Carlyle, Lockhart, Thackeray and +Southey were among the early contributors. Theodore Hook, famous for his +somewhat coarse but copious and ready wit, also wrote for it. He was at +that time one of the most popular of the novelists; but though he could +tell a story well he could not draw a character, and it is for impromptu +jests and for the clever fun of his articles that he is now remembered. +Maginn himself was no mean contributor. He was never the editor of the +magazine, but he was one of the most energetic and effective of its staff. +Thackeray has immortalised him in Captain Shandon; but if he had the +weaknesses of that well-known character he had certainly all his +cleverness and more than all his accomplishments. For Maginn’s more +serious articles show no inconsiderable learning; while his best humorous +articles are simply excellent. <i>Bob Burke’s Duel with Ensign Brady</i> is a +model of what the Irish story ought to be. Maginn was helped by others in +giving an Irish flavour to the early <i>Fraser</i>. Crofton Croker, author of +the <i>Fairy Legends and Traditions of the South of Ireland</i>, was one of his +colleagues; and the witty Francis Mahony was another. The famous <i>Reliques +of Father Prout</i> first appeared in <i>Fraser</i>.</p> + +<p>Men like Theodore Hook and Mahony were however merely the free lances of +fiction, and it was Scott who moulded the legitimate novel. It is strange +that his great success did not more speedily produce a crop of imitations. +A few appeared during the twenties, but Scott’s life was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> near its close +before any writers came forward of calibre sufficient to be called his +successors. Of those who had begun to write before 1830, the chief were +Bulwer Lytton, Disraeli and Marryat. Two others, worthy of mention though +inferior to these, were the prolific but commonplace G. P. R. James and +Harrison Ainsworth. All of these men were stimulated by Scott, but the +greater ones were more than mere imitators.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Lord Lytton<br />(1803-1873).</div> + +<p>The first Lord Lytton was by baptism Edward George Earle Lytton Bulwer. On +succeeding to his mother’s estate of Knebworth he became Bulwer Lytton; +and in 1866 he was raised to the peerage as Viscount Lytton. The union of +politics with fiction is one of the points of contact between him and +Disraeli; but while in the case of Disraeli the politician is first and +the man of letters second, the order of importance is reversed in the case +of Lytton. In politics, Lytton was at the start a Whig, but afterwards +attached himself to the Conservative party, and became, under Lord Derby, +Colonial Secretary.</p> + +<p>Lytton’s literary career began in boyhood with <i>Ismail and other Poems</i> +(1820), and it ended only with his death. Perhaps fluency and versatility +were his most remarkable characteristics. He distinguished himself as a +novelist and as a dramatist, achieved a certain success as a lyric poet, +believed that his greatest work was an epic, and attempted criticism and +history. He had however the good sense and good taste to leave his +historical work, <i>Athens, its Rise and Fall</i>, unfinished on the appearance +of the histories of Thirlwall and Grote. It is only as a novelist and +dramatist that he demands serious consideration; and in these departments +he is the more worthy of attention because he is perhaps the best literary +weather-gauge of his time.</p> + +<p>Lytton’s first novel was <i>Falkland</i> (1827), which he <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span>afterwards called +his Sorrows of Werther. It proves his literary affiliation to Byron, and +the proof is strengthened by subsequent works. Lytton, who was not proud +of the relationship, both thought and said that he had done much to put +Byron out of fashion. Possibly he was right, but the kinship is none the +less real. The posing and foppery of <i>Pelham</i> are both like and unlike the +attitudinising of Byron; and the similarity of the sentimental and +romantic criminals, Eugene Aram and Paul Clifford, to the heroes of +Byron’s tales is obvious. Moreover, as Lytton once at least, in <i>Pelham</i>, +sat for his own portrait, and Byron did so many times, the likeness was +recognised as a personal one, so that one of Lytton’s early lady +correspondents nicknamed him Childe Harold. Lytton was too sensitive to +influences to escape the Byronic fever. But his Byronism is Byronism a +little damaged. ‘The Hero as Criminal,’ as presented by him, is a being +more sentimental and sickly, less violent and less forcible, but not a +whit less dangerous to society, than his Byronic prototype.</p> + +<p>Lytton’s excursions into the domains of dandyism and criminality drew down +upon him the satire of Carlyle and Thackeray, both sworn foes of +affectation, from which Lytton was never free. But in spite of hostile +criticism the new novelist had caught the popular taste; and he retained +it, perhaps because his own never remained long constant. Shortly after +the publication of <i>Eugene Aram</i> (1832) he underwent a marked change, due +immediately to a journey to Italy, the influence of which is seen both in +the subject and the treatment of <i>The Last Days of Pompeii</i> (1834), and of +<i>Rienzi</i> (1835). These, with <i>The Last of the Barons</i> (1843), form a group +of historical romances, glittering and clever, but destitute of charm. The +strength and the weakness of Lytton is nowhere more easily detected than +in these novels. They show abundance of talent,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> supported by a quality +not usually associated with such powers as those of Lord +Lytton—indefatigable industry. Yet they fall short of excellence. To say +that Lytton’s treatment of history will not bear comparison with +Shakespeare’s, or with Scott’s, or with Thackeray’s, is only to say that +he is not equal to the greatest masters. But there are other men, markedly +inferior to these, who yet overtop Lytton. Such, for instance, is Charles +Reade, in his <i>Cloister and the Hearth</i>. What Reade has in common with his +greater brethren, and Lytton has not, is the light and shade of life. In +Lytton all is polished glittering brilliance. The light is neither the +sunlight of common day nor ‘the moonlight of romance,’ but the glare of +innumerable gas lamps,—the rays from the footlights to which he was about +to betake himself. All the softer shades disappear, and quiet effects are +impossible. There is nowhere in these novels, and there is rarely in +Lytton’s later works, that atmosphere of a home which we always breathe in +the novels of the greater writers.</p> + +<p>After the Italian novels Lytton for a time turned his energies to dramatic +writing. The fantastic romance of <i>Zanoni</i> (1842) and <i>The Last of the +Barons</i>, which followed it, are exceptions. With <i>The Caxtons</i> (1849) we +find him entering upon a new period of prose fiction. <i>My Novel</i> (1853) +was a sequel to it; and these two are generally ranked with <i>What will He +do with It?</i> (1859) as a group devoted to contemporary life. Perhaps +<i>Kenelm Chillingly</i> (1873) ought to be added. These novels are altogether +mellower than the historical romances, and wholesomer than what may be +called the criminal group. To a great extent the theatrical glare has +disappeared. It is clear that in writing these novels Lytton was catering +for the taste which had been partly indicated and partly created by +Dickens and Thackeray. The difference is that, whereas<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> Dickens and +Thackeray are habitually in touch with nature, Lytton is so only in +moments of inspiration. His true field was not the natural, but rather the +fanciful and fantastic. Two of his most successful works are <i>Zanoni</i>, +which flings probability to the winds, and <i>The Coming Race</i> (1871), in +which the faculty exercised is that of prophecy. In the latter Lytton +showed again his extraordinary sensitiveness. Forecasts like <i>The Coming +Race</i> have been characteristic of recent literature, and he seems to have +divined their approach.</p> + +<p>Lytton’s dramas are remarkably like in tone to his novels, and the +popularity they have enjoyed has been due to much the same causes. But +whereas the novels are overshadowed, in critical opinion at least, and +largely even in popularity, the dramas remain what they were when they +were written, among the best plays of a non-dramatic age. Not that they +can compare in literary merit with even such semi-failures as Browning’s +plays, still less with Tennyson’s one great success, <i>Becket</i>. They are +melodramatic, and the striving for stage effect is evident; but yet they +are interesting and well adapted for representation, and the melodrama is +good of its kind. Lytton’s first play, <i>The Duchess de la Vallière</i>, was a +failure; but <i>The Lady of Lyons</i> (1838) speedily became, and still +remains, a favourite on the stage. It is the best specimen of Lytton’s +dramatic work. Attempts have been made to put the prose comedy, <i>Money</i> +(1840) above it; but, though effective, <i>Money</i> is very flimsy in +construction and characterisation. Lytton’s third drama, <i>Cardinal +Richelieu</i> (1838), is like one of the historical novels adapted to the +stage; though, curiously enough, it is less meretricious than they are.</p> + +<p>The epic of <i>King Arthur</i> is scarcely worthy of mention; but Lytton’s +lyrics deserve a few words, if only because they are in danger of being +forgotten. They are not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> original; perhaps indeed it is as echoes that +they are most interesting. We have already seen how Lytton appears to veer +with every breath of popular taste; and it is curious to detect in a man +so different by nature the occasional echo of the pensive reflexion of +Arnold, and sometimes even a suggestion of the philosophy of Browning. It +will appear hereafter that this faculty proved hereditary and descended to +Owen Meredith. Two stanzas from <i>Is it all Vanity?</i> deserve to be quoted, +because the modern note sounds so clear in them:</p> + +<p class="poem">‘Rise, then, my soul, take comfort from thy sorrow;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thou feel’st thy treasure when thou feel’st thy load;</span><br /> +Life without thought, the day without the morrow,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">God on the brute bestow’d;</span><br /> +<br /> +‘Longings obscure as for a native clime,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Flight from what is to live in what may be,</span><br /> +God gave the Soul;—thy discontent with time<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Proves thine eternity.’</span></p> + +<div class="sidenote">Benjamin Disraeli, Earl of Beaconsfield<br />(1804-1881).</div> + +<p>Benjamin Disraeli, Earl of Beaconsfield, was the man of letters most +closely related in spirit and methods to Lytton; but even from the +beginning his ambition was for eminence in the state. Political interests +and a political purpose are features in his earlier works, and they are +the essence of the intermediate novels, <i>Coningsby</i> and <i>Sybil</i>. Disraeli +began his career with <i>Vivian Grey</i>, the first part of which was published +in 1826, and the second in the following year. He next spent three years +in the south of Europe; after which, in the interval between his return +and his entrance into Parliament in 1837, came the period of his greatest +literary activity. Between 1831 and 1837 there appeared, besides some +minor works, five novels,—<i>The Young Duke</i>, <i>Contarini<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> Fleming</i>, <i>The +Wondrous Tale of Alroy</i>, <i>Venetia</i> and <i>Henrietta Temple</i>. Parliamentary +work checked his pen and profoundly influenced what he did write, as we +see in <i>Coningsby</i> (1844), <i>Sybil</i> (1845), and <i>Tancred</i> (1847). After +<i>Tancred</i> Disraeli wrote no fiction till <i>Lothair</i> appeared in 1870, +followed by the disappointing <i>Endymion</i> (1880).</p> + +<p>As literature, Disraeli’s novels are not great, because, using the word in +an artistic and not in a moral sense, they are not pure. They are +pretentious and unreal, and the rhetoric rings false. The impression of +insincerity, conveyed to so many by his statesmanship, is conveyed also by +his novels. But notwithstanding all defects, Disraeli’s novels have that +interest which must belong to the works of a man who has played a great +part in history. They throw light upon his character, they mark the +development of his ambition, it may even be said that they have helped to +make English history. It is worth remembering that <i>Tancred</i> foretells the +occupation of Cyprus; and it is quite consistent with the character of +Disraeli to believe that, when the opportunity came, the desire to make +his own prophecy come to pass influenced him to add to the British crown +one of its most worthless possessions, and to burden it with one of its +most intolerable responsibilities, the care of Armenia. Indeed, the most +remarkable feature in Disraeli’s novels is the way in which they reflect +his life and interpret his statesmanship. The magniloquence, the flash and +the glitter of the early novels seem of a piece with the tales current +regarding the author’s manners and character, his dress designed to +attract attention, and his opinions cut after the pattern of his dress. So +in the <i>Coningsby</i> group we are struck with the forecast of the writer’s +future political action. His later policy seems to be just the realisation +of his earlier dreams.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span>Impartially considered, these novels, notwithstanding their air of +unreality, tell in favour of Disraeli’s sincerity. Many even of his own +party believed him to be cynically indifferent to the real effect of his +measures, and to aim only at party, and, above all, at personal success. +But it ought to be remembered that the originator of Tory democracy was +also the leader of Young England. <i>Coningsby</i>, and still more <i>Sybil</i>, +advocate the claims of the people to a more careful consideration than +they had hitherto received at the hands of government; and their advocacy +was no mere passing thought. In the case of <i>Sybil</i>, at least, Disraeli’s +views were the outcome of personal observation during a tour in the north +of England. When he afterwards declared that sanitation and the social +improvement of the working classes were the real task of government, he +was only repeating what he had written many years before. Men who knew +Disraeli well have said that his most wonderful quality was an almost +portentous power of forecast. This is certainly confirmed by his literary +works. There are no writings of the century which so distinctly foreshadow +the actual course of politics and legislation as this group of Disraeli’s +novels.</p> + +<p>Of the other men selected as representative of this early period, +Ainsworth and James, though younger than Marryat, claim treatment first, +because their work is more closely connected with the novels of the +preceding period. They were direct imitators of Scott, as Scott himself +perceived in the case of Ainsworth at least;<small><a name="f2.1" id="f2.1" href="#f2">[2]</a></small> and criticism of one side +of their work could not be better expressed than in his words. The great +novelist compares himself to Captain Bobadil, who trained up a hundred +gentlemen to fight very nearly, if not quite, as well as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> himself. He goes +on: ‘One advantage, I think, I still have over all of them. They may do +their fooling with a better grace; but I, like Sir Andrew Aguecheek, do it +more natural. They have to read old books and consult antiquarian +collections to get their knowledge; I write because I have long since read +such works, and possess, thanks to a strong memory, the information they +have to seek for. This leads to a dragging-in of historical details by +head and shoulders, so that the interest of the main piece is lost in +minute descriptions of events which do not affect its progress.’</p> + +<div class="sidenote">William Harrison Ainsworth<br />(1805-1882).</div> + +<p>Little or nothing need be added about the historical novels of William +Harrison Ainsworth. What Scott says is strictly true of <i>The Tower of +London</i> (1840), reputed to be Ainsworth’s masterpiece, of <i>Old St. Paul’s</i> +(1841), and of <i>St. James’s, or the Court of Queen Anne</i> (1844). The +censure is indeed too mildly expressed.</p> + +<p>Ainsworth had another side. Like Lytton, he showed a kind of perverse +regard for interesting criminals. <i>Rookwood</i> (1834), with its famous +description of Turpin’s ride to York, and <i>Jack Sheppard</i> (1839), are +studies of the highwayman. The latter was severely criticised as +demoralising in tendency, and the censure induced Ainsworth to abandon +this species of story.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">George Paine Rainsford James<br />(1801-1860).</div> + +<p>George Paine Rainsford James was even more prolific than Ainsworth. He is +said to have written more than one hundred novels, besides historical +books and poetry. No wonder therefore that the name of James became a +by-word for conventionality of opening and for diffuse weakness of style. +More perhaps than Ainsworth he has suffered from time, because he remains +more constantly on a dead level of mediocrity. James trusted,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> and in his +own day trusted not in vain, to adventure; but unless there is some saving +virtue of style, or of thought, or of character, each generation insists +on making its own adventures. James has sunk under the operation of this +law, and he is not likely to be revived.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Frederick Marryat<br />(1792-1848).</div> + +<p>Frederick Marryat was a man of altogether higher merit than these two. +Indeed there are several points, of vital moment for permanence of fame, +wherein he surpasses Disraeli and Lytton as well. He was by far the most +natural and genuine of the whole group. He was also, <i>qua</i> novelist, the +most original. There is no affectation, no pretentiousness, in Marryat. +Through his breezy style there blows the freshness of an Atlantic gale, +rude and boisterous, but invigorating. He is moreover the best painter of +the naval life of that day, and the fact that it has passed away for ever, +by closing the subject to future writers, or condemning them to write at +second-hand, gives to his works a special promise of permanence.</p> + +<p>Marryat’s literary career reaches from <i>Frank Mildmay</i> (1829) to the +posthumous <i>Valerie</i> (1849). His stories embody many incidents of his own +life, and his characters are often reproductions of actual men. Thus, the +Captain Savage of Peter Simple is partly a picture of Marryat’s first +commander, the great Cochrane, to whose adventurous spirit he owed an +experience richer, though crowded within a few years, than a lifetime of +the ‘weak piping time of peace.’ This was his literary stock-in-trade. His +rattling adventure, his energetic description, his fun and liveliness, are +the charm of his best books—<i>Peter Simple</i>, <i>Jacob Faithful</i>, <i>Midshipman +Easy</i>, <i>Japhet in Search of a Father</i>. His plots are rough but sufficient; +his characters show little penetration; but the habit of drawing from the +life prevented him from going far wrong.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span>From the nature of his subjects and from his mode of treatment Marryat +invites comparison with his predecessors, Smollett and Fenimore Cooper, as +well as with his contemporary, Michael Scott, who, next to Marryat +himself, is the best of the naval story-tellers of that time. Marryat is +by no means the equal of Smollett in richness of humour. His is rather the +humour of boisterous spirits than that intellectual quality which gives so +fine a flavour to books. On the other hand, Marryat is much more humane +than Smollett. The life depicted by both is rough to the last degree. In +Smollett, the roughness frequently passes over into brutality; while +Marryat, though he depicts brutality, never seems to share it. As against +the American, Cooper, Marryat has the advantage, in his sea stories, of +greater familiarity with the life he paints; Cooper’s strength is +elsewhere, and there he reaches higher than Marryat’s highest point.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Michael Scott<br />(1789-1835).</div> + +<p>Michael Scott, one of the <i>Blackwood</i> group of writers, would be not +unworthy to be bracketed with Marryat if a man could be judged by parts of +his books without regard to the whole; but unfortunately <i>Tom Cringle’s +Log</i> (1829-30) and <i>The Cruise of the Midge</i> (1836) are little more than +scenes and incidents loosely strung together. Perhaps Scott was influenced +by the <i>genius loci</i>; at any rate his books resemble the <i>Noctes +Ambrosianæ</i> in so far as they are the outlet to every riotous fancy and +every lawless freak of the writer’s humour.</p> + +<p>Marryat had several imitators, the best of whom were Glascock and Chamier, +the latter still fairly well known by name as the author of <i>Ben Brace</i> +and <i>The Arethusa</i>. But though they had practical experience of sea life, +like Marryat, Glascock and Chamier had not his literary faculty. At a +later date, James Hannay, the essayist and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> critic, essayed the naval tale +with more literary skill, but without the practical knowledge possessed by +these men.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Samuel Warren<br />(1807-1877).</div> + +<p>To a wholly different class belonged the once famous Samuel Warren. He was +a barrister and the author of several legal works, but his literary career +was determined rather by a short period of medical study in Edinburgh, +before he resolved to be a barrister. His acquaintance with Christopher +North opened the pages of <i>Blackwood</i> to him, and he utilised his medical +training in the <i>Diary of a Late Physician</i>, an unpleasantly realistic +book which first appeared in that magazine. <i>Ten Thousand a Year</i> (1841), +though commonplace in substance, was interesting. Warren lived upon the +reputation of this book. His subsequent attempts were failures, and he was +known through life as the author of <i>Ten Thousand a Year</i>.</p> + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V.</h2> +<p class="center"><span class="large">FICTION: THE INTERMEDIATE PERIOD.</span></p> + +<p>Where dates so overlap it is impossible to find, and therefore misleading +to seek for, absolute divisions. Some of the writers to be treated in this +chapter began to publish only a few years after those dealt with in the +last, and great part of their career was strictly contemporaneous. The +division only means that, on the whole, we can recognise in the earlier +writers a closer relationship with the preceding period, a more direct +debt to Scott and Byron. In the fourth decade of the century we begin to +see the romance of the Middle Ages and of the East giving place to the +humours of low life in Dickens, to satire on society in Thackeray, and to +the novel of passion in the Brontës. These writers may be said to form +ideals of their own, and though they do not constitute a school they are +each distinguished by characteristics which we recognise as the growth of +the present period.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Charles Dickens<br />(1812-1870).</div> + +<p>The difference between good work and excellent work is seen when we turn +from even the best of the earlier writers to Charles Dickens. The +novelist’s father, John Dickens, was a clerk in the navy pay-office; and +the circumstances of the lad’s early life are universally known from +<i>David Copperfield</i>, a novel largely autobiographical. Forster’s biography +proves that the picture of the miserable little<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> drudge, David, is even +painfully accurate. The sordid life, both of his home, with its mysterious +‘deeds’ leading up to his father’s imprisonment in the Marshalsea, and of +the London streets and the blacking warehouse, was the best possible for +the development of his talents; but the bitterness of it never faded from +his memory. Neither can it be denied that certain of the faults of Dickens +may with probability be explained by his early life. His many fine +qualities were marred by a slight strain of vulgarity, visible both in his +works and in his life, from which the surroundings of a happier home would +almost certainly have preserved a nature so sensitive.</p> + +<p>The family circumstances improved, and in 1824 Dickens was sent to a +school at once poor and pretentious, where he remained for two years. He +afterwards spent some time in a lawyer’s office, but left it to become a +reporter. After much toil he became, in his own words, which are confirmed +by the estimate of others, ‘the best and most rapid reporter ever known.’ +Journalism is akin to literature, and Dickens gradually drifted into +authorship. His first article, <i>A Dinner at Poplar Walk</i>, now entitled +<i>Mr. Minns and his Cousin</i>, appeared in the old <i>Monthly Magazine</i> for +December, 1833; and the collected papers were published in 1836, under the +title of <i>Sketches by Boz</i>. They were in some respects crude, but they +contained the promise of genius. The first drafts of some of Dickens’s +best characters are to be found in them, and the sketches are eminently +fresh and independent. Few books owe less to other books than the early +works of Dickens. His book was the streets of London; and even what he +read was best assimilated if it had some connexion with them. George +Colman’s description of Covent Garden captivated him. ‘He remembered,’ +says Forster, ‘snuffing up the flavour of the faded cabbage-leaves as if +it were the very breath of comic fiction;’ and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> Forster adds, with +justice, ‘it was reserved for himself to give a sweeter and fresher breath +to it.’ For to the honour of Dickens it may be said that, despite certain +lapses of taste, he seldom forgot that ‘there is as much reality in the +scent of a rose as in the smell of a sewer.’</p> + +<p>The extraordinary rapidity with which Dickens rose to popularity is +indicated by the advance in the value of his copyrights. He sold the +copyright of <i>Sketches by Boz</i> for £150, and before <i>Pickwick</i> was +finished in the following year, he found reason to buy it back for no less +than £2,000. <i>Pickwick</i>, scarcely equalled for broad humour in the English +language, was published in monthly parts, and finished in November, 1837. +It was <i>Pickwick</i> that led to the first meeting between Dickens and +Thackeray; for on the suicide of Seymour, the original illustrator, +Thackeray was one of those who offered to execute the sketches. <i>Oliver +Twist</i> was begun before <i>Pickwick</i> was finished; and in the same way +<i>Nicholas Nickleby</i> overlapped <i>Oliver</i>. Thus the stream flowed on for +many years; and though towards the close of his life the rate of +production was slower, Dickens, like Thackeray, was writing to the last.</p> + +<p>The life of Dickens was purely literary, and was diversified by few +incidents. But he was liable to overstrain, as men of great nervous energy +are apt to be, and was consequently forced to allow himself occasional +holidays. During one of these, in 1842, he visited America, and wrote, in +consequence, the not very wise or generous <i>American Notes</i>. This journey +bore fruit in <i>Martin Chuzzlewit</i>. Two years later he made a journey to +Italy, and subsequently he was several times on the continent and once +again in America. The influence of the continental journeys can be traced +in <i>A Tale of Two Cities</i>, though the story is rather due to Carlyle’s +<i>French Revolution</i> than to the personal observation of Dickens. A more +serious <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span>interruption than any holiday he ever allowed himself was his +indulgence, for so it may be described, in public readings. They increased +his wealth, and they gratified the vanity which, in spite of his +biographer, was one of the weaknesses of Dickens; but they impaired his +literary work, and in all probability they hastened his death. Besides +these readings, the nervous strain of which was very great, Dickens +encumbered himself with editorial work. He conducted <i>Household Words</i> +from its start in 1850; and when it stopped in 1859 he started <i>All the +Year Round</i>, with which he was connected till his death. Through these +various distractions both the quantity and the quality of his original +work declined. Probably after <i>David Copperfield</i> he never wrote anything +altogether first-rate. His health too gave way under the strain, and he +died at the age of 58, on June 9th, 1870.</p> + +<p>Dickens has enjoyed a popularity probably unparalleled among English +writers. Forster has calculated that during the twelve years succeeding +his death no fewer than 4,239,000 volumes of his works were sold in +Britain. The secret was in the first place originality. Dickens had lived +the life he depicted. With a strong memory and keen powers of observation +he had been storing up from early boyhood information which in his maturer +years served him well. ‘Sam’s knowledge of London was extensive and +peculiar,’ he writes of Weller, when Mr. Pickwick addresses him with a +sudden query about the nearest public house; and he illustrates Sam’s +knowledge by making him answer without a moment’s hesitation. Dickens +himself, if put down suddenly in any quarter of London, could probably +have answered the question with equal readiness. He was emphatically a man +of cities, was restless when he was long away from streets, and loved +above all things the streets of London.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span>But he was still more an observer of persons than an observer of places. +Even in boyhood he judged men with great accuracy; and after he had won +fame he asserted that he had never seen cause to change the secret +impression of his boyhood with regard to anyone whom he had known then. +Moreover, he never forgot. In his troubled and wretched boyhood, +therefore, he was ‘making himself,’ though involuntarily and in an +unpleasant fashion, as much as Scott was by his Liddesdale raids.</p> + +<p>It is however the something added to observation that gives literary +value; and had Dickens added nothing he would have been far on the way to +oblivion now. Shakespeare may have based Falstaff on observation; but +probably no man, except Shakespeare himself, was ever quite as humorous as +the fat knight. Similarly, it is safe to assert that Dickens never met a +Londoner with all the wit and resource of Sam Weller. ‘The little more, +and how much it is.’ What the artist adds creates the character. Incidents +he has seen, phrases he has heard, are only the raw material for his +imagination. Humour is practically non-existent unless it is understood; +and, as a more recent humourist has whimsically insisted, there may be +here a kind of division of labour, the humour being lodged in one mind and +the comprehension of it in another. It is so with Dickens. He sympathises, +appreciates, interprets, and thus in part creates. He frequently makes the +fun by his own keen sense of it.</p> + +<p>But while Dickens was excellent within his own sphere, that sphere was +comparatively small. He was good only as a painter of his own generation +and of what had come under his own experience. Living in the days of the +historical novel, Dickens nevertheless felt that his talent lay in the +delineation of contemporary manners. Neither his education nor the bent of +his mind fitted him to excel<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> in the historical romance. Twice he tried +the experiment—in <i>Barnaby Rudge</i>, and in <i>A Tale of Two Cities</i>; but on +both occasions he wisely kept pretty close to his own time. <i>Barnaby +Rudge</i> is, by general consent, second-rate, and whatever may be the true +value of <i>A Tale of Two Cities</i>, its merit is not essentially of the +historical kind. It is Scott who has written the history of the Porteous +riot and of the rebellion of ’45; and our most vivid impression of society +in Queen Anne’s time comes from <i>Esmond</i>. But there is no danger of +Carlyle’s <i>French Revolution</i> being superseded by <i>A Tale of Two Cities</i>.</p> + +<p>Neither has Dickens command over a wide range of character. He is +completely at home only in one grade of society, and, as a rule, the +farther he moves from the lower ranks of Londoners the more he falls short +of excellence. Coachmen, showmen, servants of all kinds, beadles, +self-made men of imperfect education, he could depict with wonderful force +and vivacity; but his triumphs in the higher ranks are few. The reason +lies partly in the character of the experience he had acquired, partly in +his manner of conception. Dickens was theatrical and had a tendency to +farce; above all, he was by nature a caricaturist. If anyone, man or +woman, presented some conspicuous peculiarity, whether of disposition, or +of physical appearance, or of dress, Dickens was happy and made the most +of it. But education and social convention tend to smooth away +angularities and prominences, and hence among the classes influenced by +them he rarely found the material he needed.</p> + +<p>The characters of Dickens, then, are personified humours, his method is +the method not of Shakespeare, but of Ben Jonson. Pecksniff is just +another name for hypocrisy, Jonas Chuzzlewit for avarice, Quilp for +cruelty. The result is excellent of its kind. The repetitions and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span>catch-words are, within limits, highly effective. Sometimes they are +genuinely illuminative; but sometimes, on the other hand, they reveal +nothing and are used to weariness. The ‘waiting for something to turn up’ +of the Micawber family goes to the root of their character. But ‘ain’t I +volatile?’ ‘Donkeys, Janet,’ the sleepiness of the Fat Boy, Pecksniff and +Salisbury Cathedral, even the jollity of Mark Tapley, are worn threadbare. +Mrs. Harris herself is heard of rather too often. Exaggeration has no law, +it is rather the abrogation of law; and the writer who adopts the method +of exaggeration pays the price in losing all check upon himself.</p> + +<p>In exaggeration too we find the defect of Dickens’s highest quality. His +humour, like the humour of the country he at first satirised so bitterly, +rests too much on exaggeration. It is ready, copious, irresistible; but, +while it wins and deserves admiration, it rarely provokes the exclamation, +‘how natural,’ or ‘how true.’ Micawber is one of the most comical +characters in fiction, but we are not struck by his fidelity to nature. +Though he is drawn from the life he is not representative, but rather +belongs to the class of curiosities whose natural resting-place is a +museum.</p> + +<p>The mannerism of which this is one form runs through the whole of the work +of Dickens, affecting style as well as substance, the description of +nature as well as the delineation of character. The English is nervous and +vivid, but little regard is paid to proportion. The minutest detail, if it +happens to strike the writer’s fancy, is elaborated as if it were vital to +the story. The moaning of the sea, the freaks of the wind, the fluttering +of a leaf, are dilated upon in paragraph after paragraph. It is the +romantic method liberated from all restraint. There is no poetry more +heavily charged with the ‘pathetic fallacy’ than the prose<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> of Dickens; +and in prose it is more dangerous because of the absence of the trammels +of verse.</p> + +<p>The dangers of this style and this manner of conception become more +conspicuous when we turn to other manifestations of them. Dickens was in +his own time thought to be a master of the pathetic equally with the +mirthful strain. It was correct taste to weep over little Nell; and +Jeffrey, no very indulgent critic of contemporaries, declared that there +had been nothing so good since Cordelia. Dickens has been dead only a +quarter of a century, but few critics would pronounce such a judgment now. +His humour so far retains its power; but the veneer has already worn off +his pathos. Little Nell and little Emily may still draw tears, more tears +perhaps than were ever shed for the fate of Cordelia. But this is not the +best test of the quality of pathos. That which, from Homer to Shakespeare, +has conquered the suffrages of the world, is solemnising and saddening, +rather than tear-compelling. Tears are within the range of a very ordinary +writer, but to produce a tragic Cordelia or Antigone is only possible to a +Shakespeare or a Sophocles. The truth is that the faults of Dickens, +apparent in his humour but pardonable there, become offensive in his +pathos. His touch is not sufficiently delicate, he does not know when to +leave off, he unduly prolongs the agony. The death-scene of Cordelia and +Lear, perhaps the most tragically pathetic in all literature, occupies +some sixty or seventy lines. How different from this are the scenes +relating to the death of Little Nell! Their very diffuseness has +contributed to their popularity, but it damages them as literature.</p> + +<p>Many of the other faults of Dickens are cognate to this. He sacrifices +everything for effect, and hence his proneness to horrors. The pictures +are often wonderfully done, but they are unwholesome. The murder by Jonas +Chuzzlewit,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> and still more the murder of Nancy, are examples. Sometimes +Dickens goes wholly beyond the reach of pardon, as in the purely horrible +and sickening description of spontaneous combustion in <i>Bleak House</i>. More +frequently the sin is rather against proportion. We hear too much of the +dragging of the river for dead bodies in <i>Our Mutual Friend</i>. Dickens +never could learn where to stop. His highly pictorial imagination +presented to him every detail of the scene; and, like a Pre-Raphaelite, he +forgot that to the reader a general impression conveyed more truth than +minute accuracy in every detail.</p> + +<p>The faults of Dickens grew with time, his merits tended to decline; but +even to the end the characteristic merits are to be found. It was not +unjustly said that his death had once more eclipsed the gaiety of nations.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">William Makepeace Thackeray<br />(1811-1863).</div> + +<p>While Dickens, as has been seen, leaped into fame, his only contemporary +rival, William Makepeace Thackeray, slowly and with difficulty forced his +way to it. He was the senior of Dickens by rather more than half a year, +having been born at Calcutta on July 18th, 1811. He was educated at the +Charterhouse; and if his feelings may be inferred from his works they must +have changed considerably. In his earlier writings it is Slaughter House; +in <i>The Newcomes</i> it is the celebrated Grey Friars. After leaving school +Thackeray went in 1829 to Cambridge, but he left the University in 1830 +without taking his degree. While he was there he contributed to <i>The +Snob</i>, the name of which suggested to him a title in after years. One of +his papers was an amusing burlesque on <i>Timbuctoo</i>, the subject for the +prize poem, won by Tennyson, for 1829. In 1830 Thackeray went to Weimar, +and he spent a considerable time there and in Paris training himself as an +artist. The inaccuracy of his drawing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> was a fatal bar to his success in +art; but he turned his studies to account afterwards in illustrating his +own books; and there are probably no works in English in which the +illustrations throw more light upon the text. In 1832 he became master of +his little fortune of about £500 per annum, all of which was lost within a +year or two. Most of it was sunk in an unprofitable newspaper adventure, +reference to which is made in <i>Lovel the Widower</i>, and, with less accuracy +of circumstance, in <i>Pendennis</i>. But if he lost his money by a newspaper, +it was by journalism that he first gained his livelihood. He wrote for +<i>The Times</i>, for <i>Fraser’s Magazine</i>, and for the <i>New Monthly Magazine</i>, +contributing to the second some of the most important of his early works; +and for about eight years (1842-1850) he was one of the principal literary +contributors to <i>Punch</i>. In these periodicals there appeared during the +ten years, 1837-1847, <i>The Yellowplush Papers</i>, <i>The Great Hoggarty +Diamond</i>, <i>Barry Lyndon</i>, <i>The Book of Snobs</i> and <i>The Ballads of +Policeman X</i>. Thackeray had also published independently <i>The Paris +Sketch-Book</i> and <i>The Irish Sketch-Book</i>.</p> + +<p><i>Vanity Fair</i> (1847-1848) was Thackeray’s first novel on the great scale. +<i>Barry Lyndon</i> was indeed an exhibition of the highest intellectual power; +but it was not of the orthodox length, and it failed to bring the writer +wide fame. <i>Vanity Fair</i> did bring him fame among the more thoughtful +readers, though not a popularity rivalling that of Dickens. It was +followed by <i>Pendennis</i> (1849-1850), <i>Esmond</i> (1852) and <i>The Newcomes</i> +(1854-1855). <i>Esmond</i> was the only one that was published as a whole, and +it is significant that it is by far the best constructed of the four +usually accepted as Thackeray’s greatest novels. The periodical method of +publication had peculiar dangers for him. He was constitutionally +indolent, almost always left<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> his work to the last moment, and sometimes +had to patch up his part anyhow.</p> + +<p>In 1851 Thackeray delivered the lectures on the <i>Humourists of the +Eighteenth Century</i>, and repeated the course in America in 1852-1853. The +lectures on <i>The Four Georges</i> were delivered first in America +(1855-1856). Of all Thackeray’s writings these two courses have probably +had the most scanty justice meted out to them. Critics are frequently +apologetic, sometimes condescending. Nobody need apologise, and few can +afford to condescend with respect to what are really among the richest and +best criticisms of this century. Thackeray knew not only the literature +but the life of the eighteenth century as few have known it. In minute +acquaintance with facts he has doubtless been surpassed by many +professional historians; but there is no book to be compared to <i>Esmond</i> +as a picture of life in the age of Queen Anne; and the lectures on the +humourists are saturated, as <i>Esmond</i> is, with the eighteenth century +spirit. The figures of the humourists live and move before our eyes. We +may not always agree with the critic’s opinion, but we can hardly fail to +understand the subject better through his mode of treatment. Strong +objection has been taken, perhaps in some respects with justice, to his +handling of Swift. Yet, much as has been written about Swift, where does +there exist a picture of him so vivid, so suggestive and so memorable? Who +else has done such justice to Steele? Who has written better about +Hogarth? Thackeray succeeded because he not only knew the work of these +men but felt with them. He was at bottom of the eighteenth century type. +Much of Swift himself, softened and humanised, something of Fielding, whom +he justly regarded as a model, and a great deal of Hogarth may be detected +in Thackeray. The best criticism is always sympathetic; and it is because +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span>sympathy is so easy to him here that Thackeray is so excellent. The +treatment even of Swift is far from being unsympathetic.</p> + +<p>With the four Georges Thackeray was certainly not in sympathy. But they +afforded him an ample field for the exercise of his satiric gifts, and he +found occasion in his treatment of them for some passages of his most +eloquent writing. The objection taken to this course of lectures has been +as much political as literary. Thackeray is supposed to have treated the +throne with scanty reverence; but it is the throne itself that is lacking +in reverence when such lives are led; and the day for the concealment of +disagreeable truths has long gone by.</p> + +<p><i>The Virginians</i>, a continuation of <i>Esmond</i>, ran its periodical course +from 1857 to 1859. In the latter year Thackeray became editor of the +<i>Cornhill</i>, for which he wrote <i>Lovel the Widower</i> (1860), <i>The Adventures +of Philip</i> (1861-1862), and the delicious <i>Roundabout Papers</i>, which he +contributed occasionally from the beginning of his editorship to his +death. <i>Denis Duval</i> had not even begun to appear in the magazine, and +only a small part had been written when the author was suddenly cut off at +the age of fifty-two.</p> + +<p>It would not be easy to name two great contemporary writers, working in +the same field of letters, more radically unlike than Dickens and +Thackeray. Even the qualities they possess in common diverge as far as +qualities bearing the same name can do. Both are humourists; but the +humour of Thackeray is permeated through and through with satire; that of +Dickens has not infrequently a touch of satire, but its essential +principle is pure fun, and it is largely burlesque. We look for it in the +absurdities of the Micawber family, in the Jarley wax-works, in the +ridiculous adventures of the Pickwick Club, and in the solemn<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> fatuity of +Silas Wegg. Thackeray was a master of burlesque too, as his imitations of +contemporary novels—<i>Phil Fogarty</i>, <i>Codlingsby</i>, <i>Rebecca and +Rowena</i>—and his <i>Ballads of Policeman X</i> prove. But it is a totally +different burlesque. That of Dickens moves to laughter, and the laughter +is frequently uproarious; Thackeray only excites a smile and a chuckle of +intellectual enjoyment.</p> + +<p>The two writers differ equally in their pathos. Dickens, as we have seen, +draws it out, paragraph after paragraph, chapter piled on chapter. +Thackeray concentrates, partly from the artist’s knowledge that +concentration is necessary to permanent effect, in greater degree because +of a personal dignity, accompanied by reticence, in which Dickens was +certainly deficient. Just as there are substances which will not bear +light, so there are feelings which seem to be profaned if they are too +long exposed to view. All art involves exposure; but the difference +between perfect taste and defective taste lies in knowing just in what +manner and how long to make the exposure. In <i>The Four Georges</i> two +paragraphs contain all we are told about the last tragic years of George +III.; and just a few lines of eloquence and pathos rarely equalled close +the story.</p> + +<p>When we search back from symptom to cause we find the secret of these and +many other differences in the fact that the work of Dickens is primarily +sentimental, while Thackeray’s is primarily intellectual. This is by no +means equivalent to saying that Dickens is deficient in intellect, or +Thackeray in sentiment. It means rather that the strong intellect of +Dickens is the servant of sentiment, the strong sentiment of Thackeray the +servant of intellect. It is another way of saying that Thackeray is +essentially of the eighteenth century, the century of predominant +understanding. It follows from his satirical way of viewing life; for the +satirist must not wholly lose himself even<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> in his <i>sæva indignatio</i>. The +effect of his satire depends upon his keeping aloof, critical, superior. +The Romans were great satirists because they did so; the English are great +satirists in so far as they do so likewise. Something is lost in emotion, +as art, something is gained in comprehension, for practical application.</p> + +<p>No one can doubt that Thackeray is thus reflective and satirical. Critic +after critic has called attention to his habit of staying the course of +his story for comment and exposition. Not only so, but there is subdued +and disguised comment all through. The artist makes each character +criticise itself; and the effect is as if we were walking constantly in +the light of those rays which pierce through the opaque and reveal what +lies beneath. Thackeray’s satire plays continually over the characters he +creates for warning and example. Blanche Amory, Becky Sharp, Major +Pendennis, all have their inner motives exposed by this searching and +pitiless light. So much is this the case that Thackeray has been described +as not properly a novelist at all, but first of all a satirist. The +difference is that the novelist primarily exhibits life as it is, while +the satirist comments upon it. That Thackeray does the latter is obvious; +but it seems an exaggeration to say that he is not properly a novelist. +Though most of his stories are loosely constructed, though plot and +incident are of subordinate importance, yet without the story his books +would be vitally different. Moreover, the pure satirist commonly deals +with types rather than individuals. Juvenal does so, Horace does so, Swift +does so. So does Thackeray himself in <i>The Book of Snobs</i>. But Becky Sharp +and Major Pendennis and Beatrix Esmond all have individuality.</p> + +<p>Further, in what may fairly be regarded as Thackeray’s highest effort, +satire sinks to a secondary place. <i>Esmond</i>,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> though not the best known of +Thackeray’s works, is his purest piece of art. It is so, partly at least, +because the conditions presupposed by the story put a curb upon the +satirical tendency, in which undeniably Thackeray was too prone to +indulge. In <i>Esmond</i> the writer is restrained in two ways. First, as the +hero is himself the narrator, the sentiments have to be fitted to his +character. And Henry Esmond was not the familiar compound of weakness and +selfishness, crossed with some good nature and with occasional higher +impulses, but, on the contrary, Thackeray’s ideal man. He is endowed with +a power of satire, but it is rarely exercised. The second restraint arose +from the need of unceasing watchfulness to use language consistent with +the time in which the story is laid. If Thackeray was tempted to be +careless, this necessity must have kept him constantly in check. And so +well did he satisfy the requirements that <i>Esmond</i> is admitted on all +hands to be, of all books in English, that which most accurately +reproduces the style of a past age.</p> + +<p>It is remarkable that the same book which contains the noblest figure +Thackeray ever drew contains also the most lovable of his good women, and +the most brilliant and fascinating of the class that cannot be called +good. All critics have been struck with Thackeray’s tendency to make his +good women weak and colourless, or else sermons incarnate. Amelia and +Helen Pendennis are examples of the former class, Laura of the latter. +Lady Castlewood escapes the censure. She has greater strength of character +than Amelia or Helen; and her human weaknesses win a sympathy Laura does +not command. Moreover, there is no other woman of her type shown in the +light of passion as she is in that perfect chapter, <i>The 29th December</i>. +Beatrix, on the contrary, ranks among the reprobate. She is not so +wonderfully clever as Becky Sharp, but she has<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> what Becky has not, +fascination. Becky has only her intellect. Beatrix, clever too, has, +besides her social position, splendid beauty, and above all the +indescribable magnetic power of attraction. She can win men against +themselves, and though they are alive to all the evil of her character. +Becky can only win those whom she has blinded.</p> + +<p>The other novels, less perfect as pictures of life, are not inferior in +sheer intellect. <i>Vanity Fair</i> and <i>Barry Lyndon</i> are superlative examples +of force of mind. The latter is so faithfully written from the scoundrel’s +point of view that only the excess of scoundrelism prevents Barry from +commanding sympathy. The former contains in Becky Sharp the cleverest and +most resourceful of all Thackeray’s characters. It also contains, +especially in the chapters on the Waterloo campaign, some of the finest +English he ever wrote. <i>Pendennis</i> has its special interest in the thread +of autobiography interwoven with it; while <i>The Newcomes</i> has its crowning +glory in the old colonel, and in the famous scene in Grey Friars. After +<i>The Newcomes</i> the quality of Thackeray’s work, or at least of his novels +(for the lectures and the <i>Roundabout Papers</i> stand apart) declined. He +did not live long enough to demonstrate whether the decline was permanent +or not; but certainly there is no lack of power in the <i>Roundabout +Papers</i>; and in spite of his own dictum that no man ought to write a novel +after fifty, Thackeray should have been just at his best when he died.</p> + +<p>Thackeray was a poet and an artist as well as a novelist; and sometimes in +a copy of verses or in a sketch the inner spirit of the man may be seen +more compendiously, if not more truly and surely, than in longer and more +ambitious works. It is so here. The spirit that pervades <i>Vanity Fair</i> is +the same that inspired the <i>Ballad of Bouillabaisse</i>, the concluding +stanzas of <i>The Chronicle of the Drum</i>, <i>The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> End of the Play</i>, <i>Vanitas +Vanitatum</i>, and others of his more serious verses. There is a touch of +satire in these verses, but there is far more of pity than scorn. Still +more vividly this spirit shines through a triplet of sketches labelled +respectively Ludovicus, Rex and Ludovicus Rex, the shivering little atom +of humanity, the imposing trappings of royalty, and then the poor little +mortal clothed in this magnificence. Here we have the quintessence of +Thackeray’s sermon through all his books, the difference between the +humble reality and the vast pretensions, moral, intellectual and social, +too often based on it. There is frequently scorn in the sermon, the more +in proportion to the greatness of the pretensions. But there is almost +always pity behind the scorn. Ludovicus Rex is, after all, the sport of +fate. It is fate that decrees</p> + +<p class="poem">‘How very weak the very wise,<br /> +How very small the very great are!’</p> + +<p>It is the neglect of this fact that has led to the common judgment that +Thackeray is a cynic. The gulf that divides him from cynicism is seen when +we compare him with Swift. There is always in Thackeray a sensitive +kindliness not to be found in the older writer. Thackeray’s bitterest +satire is on individuals who are worse than their neighbours. There is +something amiss with society when Barry Lyndon and Becky Sharp are +possible; but we are not led to think that all men are Barry Lyndons, or +all women Becky Sharps. <i>Gulliver</i>, on the contrary, is a satire on the +human race.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">William Carleton<br />(1794-1869).</div> + +<p>A group of Irish novelists, rather older than Thackeray and Dickens, may +be noticed together for the sake of certain features they have in common. +If fineness of literary quality alone were in question, the first place +must be assigned<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> to William Carleton, whose <i>Traits and Stories of the +Irish Peasantry</i> are the most carefully executed of their class. Carleton +however had neither the verve nor the copiousness of Lever, who has been +fixed upon by popular judgment as the leading Irish novelist of his time. +<span class="sidenote">Samuel Lover<br />(1797-1868).</span>Still less can the versatile Samuel Lover, song-writer, dramatist and +painter as well as novelist, compete with Lever; for although the former +did many things with a certain dexterity he did nothing really well. His +<i>Handy Andy</i> is a formless book, and the fun of it grows tedious.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Charles James Lever<br />(1806-1872).</div> + +<p>Charles James Lever came in direct literary descent from neither of these, +but from William Hamilton Maxwell (1792-1850), whose <i>Stories from +Waterloo</i> turned Lever’s attention to the literary possibilities of the +great war. This book begot <i>Harry Lorrequer</i>, begun in the <i>Dublin +University Magazine</i> in 1837; and <i>Lorrequer</i> was followed by <i>Charles +O’Malley</i> (1840). The former derived its name from the ‘rollicking’ +quality generally recognised as characteristic of Lever. Both books have +whatever attraction high spirits and plenty of fun and fighting and +adventure can give; but in the literary sense they are rough and +unpolished to the last degree. <i>Tom Burke of Ours</i> (1844) shows the same +qualities slightly chastened and reduced to a more literary shape. The +change went on, and Lever paid more and more attention to construction and +to literary law and rule. He himself considered <i>Sir Brook Fossbrooke</i> +(1866) his best book; but it may be questioned whether the gain in +smoothness and regularity is sufficient to compensate for the partial loss +of that rush of adventure and copiousness of anecdote which won for Lever +his reputation, and still preserves it.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Charlotte Brontë<br />(1816-1855),<br /> +<br /> +Emily Jane Brontë<br />(1818-1848),<br /> +<br /> +Anne Brontë<br />(1820-1849).</div> + +<p>It is singular that this typically Irish novelist was by blood more +English than Irish. But the debt which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> Ireland owed to England in Lever +was repaid with interest in that family of genius, the Brontës. Their +father, himself a minor poet, left behind him, when he left Ireland, the +name by which he was known, Brunty, from O’Prunty, and was afterwards +known as Brontë. He married a Cornish girl, and settled as a clergyman at +Haworth, on the wild moors of the West Riding of Yorkshire. All his +children who grew to maturity possessed talent, if not genius. His son, +Patrick Branwell Brontë, who was in boyhood considered the most promising +of all, squandered his own life and clouded the lives of his sisters by +his debauchery. The three sisters, Charlotte, Emily Jane and Anne, all won +a place in literature, and two of them a conspicuous one. Their lives were +uneventful, but gloomy and sometimes tragic. They were poor, they had a +dissipated brother, they were constitutionally liable to consumption, and +their story is a record of dauntless efforts frustrated by failing health. +Their works bear deep marks of the people and the place amidst which they +were conceived, but even more of their own family history. This was in +fact inevitable. The sisters had no wide culture; still less were they +accustomed to mingle in society and meet many types of men and women. +Besides their few books, greedily read until the favourites were so +tattered and worn that they had to be hidden away on private shelves, the +men dwelling near them, the scenes around them and the tales current in +their family were the only food for their imagination.</p> + +<p>An outline of Charlotte’s life can be easily traced in her writings. Her +first place of education, Cowan Bridge School, for the daughters of +clergymen, appears in <i>Jane Eyre</i>; and Helen Burns represents her hapless +eldest<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> sister Maria, who died at eleven. A residence in Brussels to +improve their French and qualify them for higher teaching, furnished much +matter for <i>The Professor</i> and <i>Villette</i>. They meant to receive pupils at +the parsonage; but their brother’s intemperance made that impossible, even +if pupils had offered themselves, and, until his death in 1848, he was a +heavy burden and a bitter grief.</p> + +<p>The sisters had long loved to write as well as to read; and Charlotte has +told how, in the autumn of 1845, the thought of publication was suggested +by a MS. volume of Emily’s poetry. Her criticism of the verses is +generous, but by no means extravagant. ‘I thought them,’ she says, +‘condensed and terse, vigorous and genuine. To my ear they had also a +peculiar music, wild, melancholy, and elevating.’ The other sisters had +written poems also, and after various difficulties a small volume of +<i>Poems</i> by Currer, Ellis and Acton Bell was published in 1846. It +attracted little attention, and Charlotte says with truth that only the +poems of Emily deserved much. Hers display a genuine poetic gift. Had she +lived to write much more verse she would certainly have been one of the +greatest of English poetesses, and might have been the first of all. +Strength, sincerity and directness are the characteristics of her verse; +and the individuality of the writer gives it distinction:</p> + +<p class="poem">‘I’ll walk where my own nature would be leading:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It vexes me to choose another guide:</span><br /> +Where the grey flocks in ferny glens are feeding;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where the wild wind blows on the mountain side.</span><br /> +<br /> +‘What have these lonely mountains worth revealing?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">More glory and more grief than I can tell:</span><br /> +The earth that wakes <i>one</i> human heart to feeling<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Can centre both the worlds of heaven and hell.’</span></p> + +<p>The volume of verse was followed by several volumes of prose. Each sister +had a story ready, and the three were<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> offered simultaneously for +publication. Emily’s novel, <i>Wuthering Heights</i>, and Anne’s, <i>Agnes Grey</i>, +were accepted, though ‘on terms somewhat impoverishing to the two +authors.’ Charlotte’s, <i>The Professor</i>, was rejected by one publisher +after another, and ten years passed before it appeared. Meanwhile the +dauntless author set to work and wrote <i>Jane Eyre</i>. This was accepted, and +was published, like the stories by the other sisters, in 1847. Unlike +theirs, it won a rapid and remarkable success and finally fixed the career +of Charlotte Brontë.</p> + +<p>It will be convenient to take the work of the three sisters in the reverse +order. That of Anne Brontë may be speedily dismissed. She was a gentle, +delicate creature both in mind and body; and but for her greater sisters +her writings would now be forgotten. Her pleasing but commonplace tale of +<i>Agnes Grey</i> was followed by <i>The Tenant of Wildfell Hall</i>, in which she +attempted, without success, to depict a profligate.</p> + +<p>In sheer genius Emily Brontë probably surpassed Charlotte, though in art +she was certainly the inferior of her elder sister. All that she wrote +bears the stamp of her sombre imagination and of the gloomy strength of +her character. Despite the Celtic strain in her blood, she, like the rest +of her family, had more in common with the austere Yorkshire character +than with that of the typical Irishman. She had a perfect comprehension of +it. She was, as the northern character is by so many felt to be, +personally unattractive. She was almost savagely reserved. Even her +sisters, in her last illness, dared not notice ‘the failing step, the +laboured breathing, the frequent pauses’ with which she climbed the +staircase. But she had also the better qualities of the northern nature. +She never shrank from duty or evaded a burden; and her courage was +boundless. With her own hand she applied cautery to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> bite of a dog she +believed to be mad; and she conquered a savage bull-dog by beating it with +the bare hands, though she had been warned that if struck it would fly at +her throat.</p> + +<p>Such a character explains all that Emily Brontë is in literature. +<i>Wuthering Heights</i> is her only novel, for she died the year after its +publication. It remains therefore uncertain whether she would have +mastered her errors, or whether, as in her sister’s case, her first work +was to be her greatest. The probability is that she would have improved. +She was only thirty; and the defects of <i>Wuthering Heights</i> are +artistic,—faulty construction, want of proportion, absence of restraint. +These are defects which experience might be expected to overcome; +especially as Emily Brontë’s verse showed that she was by no means without +taste. There are flaws in the substance too; and it is less likely that +these would have disappeared. Even Mrs. Gaskell could not deny that there +is some foundation for the charge of coarseness brought against Charlotte; +and there is more in the case of Emily. It is not merely that her +characters are harsh and repulsive: there are not a few such characters in +life, and there were many of them within the experience of the Brontë +family. But besides, Emily Brontë appears to sympathise with, and +sometimes to admire, the harsher and less lovable features of the +characters she draws. Heathcliff is spoilt for most readers by the +seemingly loving minuteness with which the author elaborates the worst +characteristics of his nature, characteristics familiar to her from family +legend.</p> + +<p>For several reasons Charlotte Brontë holds a higher place in literature +than her sister. She has not to be judged by one work only. <i>Jane Eyre</i> +was followed by <i>Shirley</i> (1849), by <i>Villette</i> (1853), by <i>The Professor</i> +(1857), published posthumously, and by the fragment, <i>Emma</i><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> (1860). In +none of these did she equal her first novel, but she exhibited different +sides and aspects of her genius, she multiplied her creations, and she +proved, as long as life was given her, that she had what in the language +of sport is called ‘staying power.’ Moreover, Charlotte was decidedly more +of the artist than Emily. She understood better the importance of relief. +Her imagination too was prevailingly sombre; yet though <i>Jane Eyre</i> is +sufficiently gloomy, it is less uniformly so than <i>Wuthering Heights</i>. The +shadow is flecked here and there with light. Again, Charlotte is more +versatile in her imagination and much more pictorial than Emily. All the +members of the Brontë family had a love and apparently some talent for +art; but it is in the works of Charlotte that this talent leaves the +clearest traces. There are few things in <i>Jane Eyre</i> more impressive than +her description in words of the picture her imagination, if not her brush, +drew. More ample scope, greater variety, a more humane tone,—these then +are the points in which Charlotte surpasses Emily.</p> + +<p>Notwithstanding the wonderful force and vividness of their imagination, +the Brontës were in several respects singularly limited, largely because +their experience was so limited. It was only genius that saved them from +the narrowest provinciality. Even genius did not enable them to reach +beyond a few well-marked types of character, nor did it save them from +errors in the drawing of these. Both Rochester and Heathcliff would have +been more endurable, as members of society, if their creators had +themselves known more of society. They are brutal because the Brontës had +seen and heard about much brutality, and had not learned that polish is by +no means synonymous with weakness, and that gentleness is quite consistent +with manliness and strength of will.</p> + +<p>Partly however the narrowness was in the Brontës<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> themselves. They show +little power of invention. Not only are their types few, but the +individual characters are nearly all reproductions from life. Probably no +English writer of equal rank has transcribed so much from experience as +Charlotte Brontë. Many of her characters were so like the originals as to +be immediately recognised by themselves or by their neighbours. Shirley +Keeldar was her sister Emily, Mr. Helstone was her father, the three +curates were real men, and some of Charlotte’s school friends were +depicted, it is said, with the accuracy of daguerreotypes. This minute +fidelity to fact occasionally brought Miss Brontë into trouble; for she +was not particularly sagacious in estimating the effect of what she wrote. +We may argue from it, moreover, that if she had lived she would soon have +exhausted her material.</p> + +<p>Charlotte Brontë was likewise deficient in humour. This might be safely +inferred from her works, where there are hardly any humorous characters or +situations; and the inference would be confirmed by her life. Her letters, +often excellent for their common sense and their high standard of duty, +and sometimes for their dignity, are almost destitute of playfulness. +Neither does she seem to have readily recognised humour in others. She +admired Thackeray above almost all men of her time, but she was completely +puzzled by him when they met. She lectured him on his faults, and quaintly +adds that his excuses made them worse. The humourist was playing with the +too serious mind. Had Miss Brontë been as Irish in nature as she was by +blood she would not have made this mistake.</p> + +<p>In the case of the Brontës it would be peculiarly ungenerous to insist on +defects. All life long they fought against odds. With inadequate means and +imperfect training, without friends and without advice, they won by their +own force and genius alone a position in literature which is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> higher now +than it was forty years ago. Charlotte is one of the half-dozen or so of +great English novelists of the present century; and in all probability it +is only her early death that has made Emily’s place somewhat lower.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell<br />(1810-1865).</div> + +<p>Senior in years to the Brontës was the biographer of Charlotte, Elizabeth +Cleghorn Gaskell. Mrs. Gaskell’s fame was won chiefly as a novelist, but, +both for its intrinsic merits and as a memorial of a most interesting +literary friendship, her <i>Life of Charlotte Brontë</i> deserves mention. If +not equal to the best biographies in the language, it is worthy of a place +in the class nearest to that small group. It gives a delightful impression +both of the subject of the memoir and of her biographer. There was +sufficient difference between the two to make Mrs. Gaskell’s generous +appreciation peculiarly creditable to her. Two contemporaries of the same +sex, reared amidst men closely akin in character, and confronted, as <i>Mary +Barton</i> and <i>Shirley</i> prove, by similar social problems, could hardly +present a greater contrast than there is between Charlotte Brontë and Mrs. +Gaskell; the former austere, intense, prone to exaggeration and deficient +in humour; the latter genial, balanced, and among the most successful of +female humourists. The contrast extended to the personal appearance of the +two women. Charlotte Brontë was plain and diminutive, while in her youth +Mrs. Gaskell was strikingly beautiful.</p> + +<p>The events of Mrs. Gaskell’s life were almost wholly literary. Her first +novel, <i>Mary Barton</i>, published in 1848, remains to this day probably her +best known, though not her most perfect book. It deals with the industrial +state of Lancashire during the crisis of 1842, and it won, by its vivid +and touching picture of the life of the poor, the admiration of some of +the most distinguished literary men of the time.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> The subject was +gradually drawing more attention. The evils which begot the socialism of +Robert Owen and drew the protests of Carlyle and of Ebenezer Elliott had +been brought into prominence by the Luddite riots and by Chartism. Most of +the novelists were awakening to a sense of them. Disraeli had anticipated +Mrs. Gaskell; and Kingsley as well as Charlotte Brontë followed her. The +treatment varies greatly. Mrs. Gaskell, like Kingsley, has much more +sympathy with socialism than Charlotte Brontë has. The social aspects of +<i>Mary Barton</i> caused it to be admired and praised on the one hand, and to +be censured on the other, for reasons outside the domain of art; but on +the whole they certainly increased its popularity.</p> + +<p>The success of <i>Mary Barton</i> won for Mrs. Gaskell an invitation from +Dickens to contribute to <i>Household Words</i>, and some of her best work, +including <i>Cranford</i> (1851-1853) and <i>North and South</i> (1854-1855), first +appeared there. She was also a contributor to the <i>Cornhill</i>, where her +last story, <i>Wives and Daughters</i>, was running when she died, with +startling suddenness, in 1865.</p> + +<p>‘George Sand, only a few months before Mrs. Gaskell’s death, observed to +Lord Houghton: “Mrs. Gaskell has done what neither I nor other female +writers in France can accomplish; she has written novels which excite the +deepest interest in men of the world, and yet which every girl will be the +better for reading.”’ This is high praise; and it is deserved. It must not +indeed be pressed to mean that Mrs. Gaskell is the equal in genius, far +less the superior, of writers like George Sand or George Eliot. Neither is +she the equal of her friend, Charlotte Brontë. There is a sweep of +imagination and a touch of poetry in <i>Jane Eyre</i> quite beyond the reach of +Mrs. Gaskell. But her work is at once free from weakness and wholly +innocent. She is of all the more remarkable female novelists<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> of this +period the most feminine. The traits of sex are numerous in her books, but +they never appear unpleasantly. Her women are generally better than her +men; yet her men are not such monsters as the Brontës loved to depict. On +the contrary, she is fond of painting men of quiet worth, such as the +country doctor whose ‘virtues walk their narrow round,’ who lives unknown, +but who is sadly missed when he dies. Her best stories are quiet tales of +the life of villages and small towns, and they show the shrewd, kindly, +genial observation with which all her life she regarded those around her. +She was happy in her own domestic life, and she believed that life in +general, though chequered, was happy too. In her picture of human nature +the virtues on the whole prevail over the vices.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Gaskell saw everything in the light of a sympathetic humour. It is +this quality that has served hitherto as salt to her books and has +preserved their flavour while that of a great deal of more ambitious +literature has been lost. If her humour is not equal to the best specimens +of that of George Eliot, it is more diffused; if less powerful, it is +gentler and quite as subtle. In style she is easy and flowing; and her +later books show more freedom than her first attempt. At the same time, +her writing rarely rises to eloquence. She had more talent than genius. +She has created many good, but no great characters; and she stands midway +between Thackeray and Dickens, who are emphatically men of genius, and +writers like Trollope who, with abundant talent and exhaustless industry, +have no genius whatever.</p> + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI.</h2> +<p class="center"><span class="large">THE HISTORIANS AND BIOGRAPHERS.</span></p> + +<p>Carlyle was so much besides being a historian, and seems, when we look +back from a distance of sixty years, so clearly the leader of thought in +the early part of this period, that it has been deemed advisable to treat +him by himself. But even without him the volume and the quality of +historical work accomplished during those forty years is very great. +Besides Macaulay, who surpassed Carlyle in popular estimation, Thomas +Arnold, Grote, Thirlwall and Froude were all men who, in most periods, +might well have filled the first place in historical literature.</p> + +<p>Several reasons may be assigned for the concentration of talent upon +history. In the first place, the circumstances of the time made an +examination of the foundations of society imperative. This necessity +reveals itself everywhere, in poetry, in philosophy, and in theology, as +well as in history. The cry is on all sides for reconstruction; and there +is a growing sense that the reconstruction must take place upon a +groundwork of fact, discoverable only by a study of the past. The +pre-Revolutionary writers had relied upon <i>a priori</i> theory, but the +immediate results were so different from their anticipations that their +successors were little disposed to repeat the mistake. Modern history +teaches above all things the lesson of continuity. Institutions change and +grow, but they never spring up<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> suddenly like a Jonah’s gourd; and even +revolutions only modify, they do not annul the past.</p> + +<p>Science too has had a powerful influence, and the success of the +scientific method has encouraged the application of a method similar in +principle, though necessarily different in minor points, to the facts of +history. The last two generations have witnessed a great extension of the +principle of induction in the sphere of history; and as the first step in +a complex process of induction is the accumulation of masses of facts, we +have here perhaps an explanation of some of the weaknesses of the modern +school of history. It is apt to lose itself in detail. The reach of +Tacitus or of Gibbon seems no longer attainable, because their successors +must know everything, and can with difficulty restrain themselves from +stating everything. Some one, doubtless, whether he be called a +philosopher or a historian, will ultimately assimilate the masses of +information thus laboriously compiled, and the world will once more have +the principal results compactly stated and in orderly sequence. Buckle’s +experiment proves that it is possible to attempt this too soon; but at the +same time the welcome that experiment received is an indication that we +shall not be permanently satisfied with the fragments and aspects of +history which alone the new method as yet yields. Unity of treatment is +ultimately as essential in history as codification is in law; and it is +essential for much the same reason. The old proverb tells us that the wood +may be invisible by reason of the trees.</p> + +<p>We may trace the influence of science also in the greatly deepened sense +of the importance of origins. In science the chief triumphs have been won +by tracing things to their beginnings; in physical structure to atoms and +molecules, in animal life to nerve cells, protoplasm, or whatever is +simplest and most primitive. Exactly the same effort is made<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> in modern +history; and nothing is more distinctive of it, in contrast with the +comparatively superficial historical school of the eighteenth century, +than the determination to trace the starting-point and original meaning of +institutions. Ages which had been previously left to legend and myth have +been patiently investigated, and it is to them that we are now referred +for the explanation of our own times.</p> + +<p>But not only has the ideal of history changed; the material from which it +is written, old in one sense, is to a large extent new in the sense that +it is now for the first time accessible. The men of earlier times, even +when they had the industry and the will for minute investigation, had +seldom the means. The vast increase of accessible documents has caused +history to be written afresh, to an extent best measured by the fact that, +except those who rank as original authorities, Gibbon alone among +historians prior to the present century still holds his ground.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Thomas Babington Macaulay<br />(1800-1859).</div> + +<p>Thomas Babington Macaulay felt these modern influences, though not quite +in their full force. He was the son of Zachary Macaulay, celebrated for +his exertions in the Anti-Slavery crusade. At Cambridge, whither he went +in 1818, young Macaulay had for contemporaries a very brilliant set of +young men, including Derwent and Henry Nelson Coleridge, Moultrie, Praed +and Charles Austin, ‘the only man,’ says Sir George Trevelyan, ‘who ever +succeeded in dominating Macaulay,’ the man who weaned him from the Toryism +in which he had been brought up, and ‘brought him nearer to Radicalism +than he ever was before or since.’ A constitutional incapacity for and +hatred of mathematics was punished by the omission of his name from the +Tripos list of 1822. He had been ‘gulfed.’ Nevertheless, in 1824, he was +elected to a Fellowship of Trinity College. He was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> called to the bar in +1826, but never took seriously to the law as a profession. He had received +an earlier call to another profession, and during his stay at Cambridge he +had been a frequent contributor to <i>Knights Quarterly Magazine</i>. But we +may date from 1825, when his essay on Milton appeared in the <i>Edinburgh +Review</i>, the opening of his career in literature. For many years +afterwards he was a frequent and certainly the most effective contributor +to the review.</p> + +<p>Macaulay’s connexion with Jeffrey’s review was profitable in several ways +to himself as well as to it. He gained money, and fame, and political +connexions which determined the course of his life for many years, and +which by doing so unquestionably influenced his historical work. Through +the influence of Lord Lansdowne, who had been struck by his articles on +Mill, Macaulay became, in 1830, member for Calne. He soon made his mark, +rather as a speaker of set speeches than as a debater. His speeches have +much the character of his essays, the rhetorical style of which is not ill +adapted to verbal utterance. The clearness which Macaulay never failed to +give made the rhetoric effective. His great knowledge, and especially his +wonderful command of historical illustration, enabled him often to clinch +his argument where abstract discussion would have failed. The most telling +passage in one of his best known speeches, the speech on copyright, is a +long list of concrete instances of the effect of the proposal he was +advocating as contrasted with that of the proposal he was combating. At +the close, with well-founded confidence, he challenges his opponent to +match it. While therefore Macaulay had but a small share of the highest +faculty of the orator, the power to sway the passions of his audience, he +had in a high degree the power to interest their intellect. For neat, +crisp statement, apt and copious illustration, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> effective rhetoric +occasionally rising into eloquence, his speeches have few equals.</p> + +<p>As a reward for his services in the cause of reform Macaulay was appointed +a member of the Supreme Council of India. In 1834 he sailed from England, +and he resided in India till the beginning of 1838. Soon after his return +to England he was elected M.P. for Edinburgh, and in 1839 was raised to +the Cabinet as Secretary at War. But he gradually became absorbed in his +history and devoted less and less time to politics. His defeat in 1847 in +the parliamentary election for Edinburgh contributed to wean him still +more from public life. He was hurt, and the smart of wounded pride is +apparent in the most beautiful verses he ever wrote. They were composed on +the night of his defeat, and they declare that the writer’s true +allegiance belongs to that Spirit of Literature who, when all the ‘wayward +sprites’ of Gain, Fashion, Power and Pleasure have passed away, draws near +to bless his first infant sleep. The verses are transparently sincere. +Macaulay’s love for letters was the passion of his life; and, acting on +such a character as his, the unmerited rebuff dealt by Edinburgh proved a +turning point in his career. He retired into private life, and though +after the repentance of Edinburgh in 1852 he sat again for his old +constituency, it was with the fixed intention not to immerse himself in +parliamentary work, and above all not to accept office. He was now +completely absorbed in his history; and as he gradually became conscious +of the greatness of his task, and felt that life was slipping away with +only a fragment of it accomplished, he grudged more and more any deduction +from the time which, he foresaw, must be too short at best. For his +previously excellent health had broken down soon after his election, and +he never fully recovered it. He resigned his seat in 1856. In the +following year he was raised to the peerage<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> as Baron Macaulay of Rothley, +and he died on December 28th, 1859, leaving his history a fragment.</p> + +<p>The works of Macaulay are remarkably easy to classify and not very +difficult to appraise. They fall under four heads,—speeches, essays, +including the biographical articles contributed to the <i>Encyclopædia +Britannica</i>, the <i>History of England</i>, and poetry.</p> + +<p>The speeches have been already noticed. The essays, which are described as +‘critical and historical,’ are only to a very minor degree critical. The +well-known paper on Robert Montgomery, irresistibly amusing in its +severity, is exceptional in the fact that, starting with a literary +subject, it treats that subject throughout from a literary point of view. +In most of his essays, as he himself confessed, Macaulay escapes as soon +as possible from criticism and glides into history. This is the case even +in the essay on Milton, who would have enchained him to criticism if +anyone could. Where he is really critical, Macaulay always shows the +qualities of good sense, sound judgment and extensive knowledge; but few +will think that he shows any remarkable fineness of critical faculty. On +occasion he could characterise a style exceedingly well. His contrast +between the simple, nervous and picturesque expression of Johnson’s +familiar letters and his Latinised pomposity when his sentences are done +out of English into Johnsonese, cannot be forgotten; and his treatment of +Bacon’s style is as sound and excellent as his treatment of Bacon’s +philosophy is mistaken and false. But his mind was of too positive a type +to admit of the finest kind of criticism. He saw nothing in half-light, +and he was deficient in sympathy. His criticism of the Queen Anne writers, +whom he knew best, will not bear comparison, in respect of insight and +sensitive appreciation, with Thackeray’s criticism of them in the <i>English +Humourists</i>.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span>Macaulay’s strength lay elsewhere; and though he carried into all he did +the deficiencies revealed by his criticism, as well as deficiencies due to +political prejudice and personal bias, yet all faults are forgotten, for +the time at least, in admiration of wide knowledge, boundless energy and +brilliant style. Macaulay’s extensive reading, backed by his wonderful +memory, served him well. His knowledge was always at hand. If he wanted a +reference or an allusion he could in a moment supply it. Yet his +quotations, references and allusions are never pedantic, nor are they +allowed to clog and weight his style. They serve their proper purpose of +illustrating and enforcing his point. He defends his position by parallel +after parallel, contrast after contrast. It was this wealth of +illustration that forced acquiescence from men of less knowledge among his +contemporaries; it is the suspicion that the parallels are not always +accurate, and the contrasts not always sound, that has since caused so +many of his conclusions to be regarded with suspicion. But frequently the +historical illustrations are poured out, not to defend any thesis, but +simply because they crowd spontaneously into the writer’s mind; and some +of the most effective passages in Macaulay’s writings are of this +character. Take, for example, the well-known passage from <i>Warren +Hastings</i> beginning, ‘The place was worthy of such a trial,’ or the +description in the <i>History</i> of the spot where the dust of Monmouth was +laid. Less crowded with historical names and details, but still deriving +most of its charm from the same cause, is the almost equally well-known +paragraph in the essay on <i>Ranke’s History of the Popes</i>, beginning, +‘There is not, and there never was on this earth, a work of human policy +so well deserving of examination as the Roman Catholic Church.’ There is a +rapidity, fire and vividness in such passages by which we may in great +measure account for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> Macaulay’s popularity. He had no more marked literary +gift. It shows itself even more spontaneously in his letters than in his +formal writings; and the letters have sometimes moreover a touch of humour +rare in the works he intended for publication. Few things of his are more +purely delightful than the letter to his friend Ellis, describing the +division in the House of Commons in 1831, when the Reform Bill was carried +by a majority of one: ‘You might have heard a pin drop as Duncannon read +the numbers. Then, again, the shouts broke out, and many of us shed tears. +And the jaw of Peel fell; and the face of Twiss was as the face of a +damned soul; and Herries looked like Judas taking his necktie off for the +last operation.’</p> + +<p>It is true that the vivid colouring of the essays sometimes becomes too +glaring, that the characters, especially when they have relation to +politics, are apt to be too dark or too bright for human nature, and that +the writing is throughout that of a partisan. But if this detracts from it +is far from destroying their value; and Macaulay’s biographer is +pardonably proud of their popularity, and insists, with justice, that it +is an element in their greatness as well as an evidence of it.</p> + +<p>The first two volumes of the <i>History of England</i> were published in 1848, +and the third and fourth in 1855, while the fifth was left unfinished at +Macaulay’s death. The history repeats in great measure both the merits and +the defects of the essays. Written with a steady eye to permanence, it is +far purer and more perfect, better proportioned, more restrained and more +harmonious than they; but it is marked still by the same limitations. We +find the writer’s strength in a great command of facts and in clearness +and force of style. His weaknesses are partisan bias, exaggeration and a +certain want of depth.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span>The story of Macaulay’s ambition to write a history which every young lady +should read in preference to the latest novel has been often repeated and +often ridiculed. The ridicule is ill judged. To aim at popularity is in +itself innocent and even laudable; in truth it is universal. Carlyle +himself with reason felt aggrieved that he remained so long unrecognised. +The desire for popularity becomes vicious only when it leads the man who +cherishes it to pander to a taste which he knows to be depraved, or to +write something worse than his best, because he knows that his best would +not be as popular. There is no trace of such conduct in Macaulay. His +faults were inherent in his nature, and could have been eradicated only by +making him anew.</p> + +<p>Of late years Macaulay’s history has been often challenged on the score of +inaccuracy and untruth. The charge is brought against every historian in +turn; and we must remember, on the other hand, that Freeman, one of the +most competent of judges, warmly praised Macaulay for his command of +facts. It is necessary to distinguish three things: falsity of statement, +incompleteness of statement, and the drawing of disputable conclusions. In +the first respect Macaulay was rarely, in the second and third he was +frequently, at fault. His omissions are often indefensible. The whole +evidence of his character is against the supposition that they were due to +conscious dishonesty. It is far more probable that, approaching his +subject with a strong prepossession, he was positively blind to anything +that told against his own view. Partly for the same reason, and partly +because his philosophic endowment was not equal to his literary talent, +his inferences too are often questionable. And this perhaps will prove in +the end a more serious objection to his history than his partisanship; +for, after all, there are worse things, even in historical writing,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> than +partisanship. The man who is free from all temptation to take a side, if +not from political affinity then from moral sympathy, must run some risk +of being dull and colourless.</p> + +<p>Macaulay did much to enlarge and liberalise the conception of history. +More than any of his predecessors, he attempted to base his views on a +wide consideration of the literature and life of the people, as well as on +their constitution and campaigns and treaties. He cast all pseudo-dignity +to the winds. His method was sound; and herein Carlyle, though he applied +the principle differently, was quite at one with Macaulay. Another +honourable characteristic, wherein the two historians likewise agreed, was +their care in visiting the scenes about which they had to write; and both +have gained in vividness and in topographical accuracy from this habit. +Macaulay’s notes on the scenes of the Irish war were ‘equal in bulk to a +first-class article in the <i>Edinburgh</i> or <i>Quarterly Review</i>.’</p> + +<p>The style of Macaulay is at its best in the <i>History</i>, where it is more +chastened, more varied and sonorous than in the <i>Essays</i>. The same tricks +and mannerisms reappear, but they are softened and restrained. The trick +of a rapid succession of curt sentences, at times so effective, but also +at times monotonous and jarring, is kept within bounds. Short and simple +are mingled with comparatively long and complex sentences; for Macaulay, +scornful of ‘the dignity of history’ when it is merely cramping and +obstructive, is scrupulously mindful of it when the phrase has a +legitimate application. He rejects as meretricious ornament and +illustration which, as he himself declared, he would have considered not +only admissible but desirable in a review. The just censure that his style +is hard and metallic applies with far more force against the <i>Essays</i><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> +than against the <i>History</i>. Greater care and higher finish deepen and +enrich the tone.</p> + +<p>Macaulay’s verse must be dismissed with few words. He is best known by his +<i>Lays of Ancient Rome</i>, compositions which, like his prose writings, are +historical in principle. They neither are nor pretend to be great, but +they rank high among the modern imitations of popular poetry. At the same +time, they display no such sympathetic genius as, for example, Scott’s +ballad of Harlaw, no such loftiness of mind as his <i>Cadyow Castle</i>. They +are clear, rapid and vigorous, like their author’s prose. The generous +judgment of Elizabeth Barrett, quoted in Ward’s <i>English Poets</i>, is +essentially just: ‘He has a noble, clear, metallic note in his soul, and +makes us ready by it for battle.’ That he makes us ready by it for battle +is eminently true of the splendidly martial <i>Battle of Naseby</i>, the most +stirring piece of verse Macaulay ever wrote. It is interesting to note +that the historian of England thus, at the age of twenty-four, reached his +highest point in ballad verse in a subject taken from the country and the +century which all his life long attracted his most serious study.</p> + +<p>In several respects Macaulay is the natural antithesis to Carlyle: to some +extent they may even be regarded as complementary. We may correct the +excess of the one by the opposite excess of the other. Macaulay was an +optimist, Carlyle a pessimist; Macaulay was the panegyrist of his own +time, Carlyle was its merciless critic; Macaulay devoutly believed all the +formulas of the Whig creed, and had great faith in Reform Bills and +improvements in parliamentary machinery, Carlyle accepted no formulas +whatsoever, and set small store by any reforms that were merely +parliamentary; Macaulay was orthodox in his literary tastes and methods, +Carlyle was revolutionary and scornful of rule. The contrast applies +equally to their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> personal history and character. Macaulay was sunny, +genial and healthy, Carlyle dyspeptic, irascible, ‘gey ill to deal wi’;’ +Macaulay suddenly sprang into fame, Carlyle slowly and with difficulty +fought his way to it. They are contrasted in their very biographies. +Macaulay’s is one of the pleasantest in the language; Carlyle’s awoke an +acrimonious discussion, due in part certainly to the sins of the subject, +but in part also to his injudicious treatment by the biographer.</p> + +<p>The truth lay between them. If Macaulay was too easily optimistic, Carlyle +was too gloomy. To paint a picture all shadow is as untrue to art, and +generally to fact, as it is to paint one all light. It is true that the +great problem of society, wise government, cannot be solved by franchises +and ballot-boxes; but proper regulations as to these may help to solve it. +Carlyle sometimes forgot that the practical problem usually is, not to +secure that complex and difficult thing, wise government, but to effect +some little improvement which will conduce to the comparative, wiser +government, if it does not lead us to the unattainable positive.</p> + +<p>The example of German thoroughness had no small influence in fostering the +new movement in history. It acted most directly on the students of ancient +history, and Niebuhr was the channel through which it was transmitted to +England. Before the middle of the century his authority was hardly +questioned, though a little later we can trace the reaction in the works +of Sir George Cornewall Lewis and others; and now it is no longer possible +to conjure with the Pelasgians. But whatever doubts may cloud some of the +conclusions of Niebuhr, it was he who enabled the English historians to +breathe life into the dry bones of ancient history. Thomas Arnold, +Thirlwall and Grote were all inspired by him. Taking these writers as a +group,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> we may remark one important difference between them and the +writers of modern history. The historians of the ancient world are wider +in their range, and in their works it is still possible to trace the whole +life of a people. Thirlwall and Grote embrace all the history of Greece +down to the period of decay, and only Arnold’s early death prevented him +from being equally comprehensive. The reason is that there is a certain +finality about ancient history. The materials are manageable in quantity, +and there neither have been nor can be such additions to them as to those +on which modern history is based.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Thomas Arnold<br />(1795-1842).</div> + +<p>Thomas Arnold was a man of untiring energy, and he found for his energies +three channels, two of them practical and one literary. It is as a +schoolmaster that he has won his widest, and what will probably prove his +most enduring fame. Some unfavourable critics have insisted that Arnold’s +Rugby boy could only be described by the slang term, prig. But such +criticism is merely the revolt against excessive praise. There may have +been some intellectual and moral coxcombry developed in early years by +many of Arnold’s pupils; but that is not the mature characteristic of men +like Clough and Stanley and Dean Vaughan. Moreover, Thomas Arnold was +emphatically one of those men from whom virtue goes out; and a result due +to affectation can hardly have come from a character so simple and so +sincere.</p> + +<p>But Arnold was ambitious likewise to have a hand in determining the +doctrines and shaping the thought of England. He, a clergyman, naturally +took an ecclesiastical view of what would do that; but it was at the same +time a broad view. His position was singularly interesting. The two great +evils of the age, in his eyes, were that materialism which he believed to +be centred in the University of <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span>London, and the Catholic revival +associated with the University of Oxford. He stood upon a ground of +rationalism, but it was a rationalism which he firmly believed to be +consistent with faith. He hated materialism because it left no room for a +religious creed; he hated Tractarianism because it was irreconcilable with +reason, and he was convinced that whatever was irrational must and ought +to go to ruin. He would have accepted the aphorism of a living writer, +‘Nothing that is intellectually unsound can be morally sound.’ ‘It is,’ +says he, ‘because I so earnestly desire the revival of the Church that I +abhor the doctrine of the priesthood.’ It was this, the combination of +faith with fearless loyalty to reason, that gave him his peculiar interest +in the eyes of observers. The keenest of these however thought the +permanent maintenance of that position impossible; and Dr. Arnold’s son, +Matthew, in his <i>Letters</i> expresses in another way an opinion +substantially identical with that which Carlyle had expressed before.</p> + +<p>Arnold’s <i>History of Rome</i>, published between the years 1838 and 1843, has +in great part lost its importance through the researches of Mommsen and +other German scholars; but there are portions which can never lose their +importance. The point of view is essentially Arnold’s own. The impulse to +write came to him because he found in Rome the ancient analogue to the +‘kingly commonwealth of England.’ He found in the great republic lessons +both of encouragement and of warning to his own country; but he sinned +less than some others, notably Grote, in the way of drawing these lessons +direct from the ancient state to the modern. In another respect, dignity +of style, he had an immense advantage over his more widely-read +contemporary. Arnold’s English is always forcible, and in the best +passages it is eloquent. He is strongest in his account of military +operations, and his description of the campaigns of the Second Punic War<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> +remains still the most vivid and readable in our language, and probably in +modern literature. Certainly Mommsen, powerful as his work is, cannot +rival Arnold as a military historian. It is rather in depth of +scholarship, in mastery of facts, in comprehension of the early history, +and consequently of the subsequent working, of the constitution, that +Arnold has been surpassed.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Connop Thirlwall<br />(1797-1875).</div> + +<p>The other two historians of the ancient world both chose Greece for their +subject. The more interesting and abler man of the two, and the profounder +scholar, had the singular ill fortune to see his work superseded, almost +as soon as he had written it, by that of his rival. Connop Thirlwall was +celebrated in his day as one of the best of English scholars; but no man +was ever less of the mere grammarian. Trenchant intellect and sound +judgment were his characteristics. He impressed all who encountered him +with his capacity to be a leader of men; and his early enterprises seemed +a guarantee that he would redeem his promise. As one of the translators of +Niebuhr he moulded English historical thought; and his translation of +Schleiermacher’s essay on St. Luke made an equally deep impression on +English theology. It almost stopped his professional advancement. When, in +1840, Thirlwall was suggested to Lord Melbourne for the bishopric of St. +David’s, Melbourne, with the characteristic oath, objected: ‘He is not +orthodox in that preface to Schleiermacher.’ After some investigation the +pious minister convinced himself that the writer of the preface was +sufficiently orthodox for the purpose. Thirlwall, perhaps to the cost of +his permanent fame, became Bishop of St. David’s, and held the office till +the year before his death. As Bishop he was bold and independent in +judgment. On two memorable occasions he stood alone among his order. He +was the solitary bishop who refused to sign<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> the address calling upon +Colenso to resign, and he alone voted for the disestablishment of the +Irish Church. Nevertheless he was in a position unfortunate for himself. +His nature demanded unfettered freedom of thought; and the controversy +with Rowland Williams over the question of <i>Essays and Reviews</i> proved +that such freedom was not to be found on a bishop’s throne.</p> + +<p>Thirlwall’s principal contribution to literature is his <i>History of +Greece</i> (1835-1847). The completed work is unfortunately marred by traces +of the original design. It had been meant for <i>Lardner’s Cyclopædia</i>, but +overflowed the limits set. Thirlwall thereupon revised the scheme; but he +never attained the freedom he would have had if he had begun to write on +his own plan and his own scale. His profound scholarship, penetrating +judgment, nervous though severe style, and critical acumen, all show to +advantage in the <i>History</i>. He is far more concentrated than Grote; and +though the latter caught the meaning of certain movements and certain +institutions which Thirlwall neglected or misinterpreted, he presents a +more luminous and a less prejudiced view of Greek history than his +successful rival.</p> + +<p>But if the <i>History of Greece</i> is Thirlwall’s most solid contribution to +literature, that which gives the best impression of the man, regarded by +contemporaries as a rival of the greatest, is his <i>Letters to a Young +Friend</i>.<small><a name="f3.1" id="f3.1" href="#f3">[3]</a></small> Few collections of letters give a more charming view of a +relation of pure friendship between two people of widely different age. +They are weighty too because they touch at many points on questions of +universal interest. It has been said that the letters a man writes ought +to be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> ascribed to his correspondent in equal measure with himself; and it +is certain that from the sympathy he found in this friendship Thirlwall +drew an inspiration nothing else in his life ever gave him.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">George Grote<br />(1794-1871).</div> + +<p>George Grote, the schoolfellow, friend and rival of Thirlwall, was a man +in most respects widely different from the great Bishop. Thirlwall’s +thought was German in origin, though it was coloured by English +ecclesiastical opinion. Grote was a Benthamite, and had all the hardness +without quite all the force of that school. It was the rising school, and +part of Grote’s success was due to the fact that he was moving along the +line of least resistance. He was a persevering, clear-sighted, determined +man. As a historian of Greece he was patient and thorough. He had marked +out the subject as his own more than twenty years before the publication, +in 1846, of his first two volumes; and ten years more passed before the +work was finished. Indeed, we may say that his whole life was devoted to +it; for, according to his conception of history, <i>Plato and the other +Companions of Sokrates</i> (1865), and the incomplete Aristotelian studies +issued posthumously in 1872, were parts and appendages of the history.</p> + +<p>Grote was spurred on to this work by political feelings more nearly +related to the present time. He was irritated by the Toryism of Mitford’s +<i>History of Greece</i>, which he exposed in an article in the <i>Westminster +Review</i>. Yet one of his own most conspicuous defects is that he too +evidently holds a brief on the opposite side. He does not slur facts, +still less does he falsify, but his arguments have sometimes the character +of special pleading. Democracy becomes a kind of fetish to him. Its +success in the Athens of the fifth century <span class="smcaplc">B.C.</span> is made an argument for +extending the English franchise in the nineteenth century <span class="smcaplc">A.D.</span>; +and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> Grote +is wholly blind to the fact that the wide difference of circumstances +makes futile all reasoning from the one case to the other.</p> + +<p>Grote’s style is heavy and ungainly. He plods along, correct as a rule, +but uninspiring and unattractive. He is similarly clumsy in the use of +materials. Skilful selection might have appreciably shortened his history; +but Grote rarely prunes with sufficient severity, and often he does not +prune at all. His habit of pouring out the whole mass of his material in +the shape of notes lightens the labour of his successors, but injures his +own work as an artistic history. Nevertheless, though Grote had no genius, +and nothing that deserves to be called a style, his <i>History of Greece</i> +holds the field. It does so because of its solidity and conscientious +thoroughness, because of its patient investigation of the origin and +meaning of institutions, and because its very faults were, after all, +faults which sprang from sympathy. Grote was the first who did full +justice to the Athenian people; and he may be pardoned if he sometimes did +them more than justice.</p> + +<p>As these three, Arnold, Thirlwall and Grote, dealt with the ancient world +in its glory and greatness, so there were two, Milman and Finlay, who +traced its decay, or the process of transition from the ancient to the +modern world.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Henry Hart Milman<br />(1791-1868).</div> + +<p>Henry Hart Milman in his earlier days wrote poetry. The turning-point in +his literary career was the publication of the <i>History of the Jews</i> +(1830), the first English work which adequately treats the Jews in their +actual historical setting, not in the traditional way as a ‘peculiar +people’ with practically no historical setting at all. Milman afterwards +edited Gibbon and wrote a life of the historian; and in 1840 the result of +his studies appeared in the <i>History<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> of Christianity under the Empire</i>. +In 1855 the <i>History of Latin Christianity down to the Death of Pope +Nicholas V.</i> set the crown upon his labours. This work is Milman’s best +title to remembrance, and though errors have been detected in it, the tone +and spirit are good, the method sound and the scholarship admirable.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">George Finlay<br />(1799-1875).</div> + +<p>George Finlay has suffered from an unattractive theme, for few care about +the obscure fortunes of Greece after its conquest by the Romans. But +Finlay was an enthusiast who not only wrote about Greece but lived in it; +and this residence (continuous after 1854) imparts to his history its most +valuable qualities. Finlay published a series of works on Greece between +1844 and 1861, all of which were summed up in his <i>History of Greece from +its Conquest by the Romans to the Present Time</i> (1877).</p> + +<div class="sidenote">John Mason Neale<br />(1818-1866).<br /> +<br /> +Charles Merivale<br />(1808-1893).</div> + +<p>Among historians of less importance, John Mason Neale did for the Holy +Eastern Church a service similar to that performed by Milman for the Latin +Church; but he is more likely to be remembered as a hymn-writer than as a +historian. Charles Merivale was likewise a subordinate member of the group +of ancient historians. His principal work was a <i>History of the Romans +under the Empire</i> (1850-1862). Its worst defect is that the author is not +quite equal to his subject. Merivale was a respectable historian, but the +successful treatment of the Romans under the Empire demanded a great one.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">James Anthony Froude<br />(1818-1894).</div> + +<p>Among the writers of modern history the next in rank after Macaulay and +Carlyle is James Anthony Froude, the brother of Richard Hurrell Froude, +famous for his connexion with the Oxford movement. For a time J. A. Froude +himself was a Tractarian, and he took orders.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> But Newman’s drift to Rome +forced him in the opposite direction. His first considerable book, <i>The +Nemesis of Faith</i> (1849), records his change of mind and indicates how +impossible it must always have been for him to rest permanently in the +position of the Tractarians.</p> + +<p>Leaving Oxford and the Tractarians, Froude fell under the spell of +Carlyle. They were introduced to each other soon after this, but it was +not till Froude’s settlement in London in 1860 that they became intimate. +Carlyle’s influence upon his disciple was almost wholly good. The younger +man had the good sense not to imitate his master’s style, while he learnt +from him clear, sharply-outlined, fearless judgment; and the mists of +Tractarianism rolled away for ever.</p> + +<p>The great work of Froude’s life was his <i>History of England from the Fall +of Wolsey to the Defeat of the Spanish Armada</i> (1856-1870). It was written +under the direct inspiration of Carlyle. ‘If I wrote anything,’ says +Froude, ‘I fancied myself writing it to him, reflecting at each word what +he would think of it, as a check on affectations.’ He submitted the first +two chapters, in print, to Carlyle; and the verdict, ‘though not wanting +in severity,’ was on the whole favourable. The critics were divided. +Froude was a man who usually either carried his readers wholly with him or +alienated them. Those who loved clear, vigorous, pointed English, keen +intelligence and life-like portraiture, were delighted with the book. +Students, familiar with the original documents and able to criticise +details, regarded it with very different eyes.</p> + +<p>Both sides were right in their principal assertions, and both were prone +to forget that there was another aspect of the case. On the one hand, it +has been established beyond the reach of reasonable dispute that Froude +was habitually and grossly inaccurate. It is indeed doubtful whether<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> any +other historian, with any title to be considered great, can be charged +with so many grave errors. Froude is inaccurate first of all in his facts. +He does not take the trouble to verify, he misquotes, he is not careful to +weigh evidence. But moreover, he is inaccurate in what may be called his +colour. He paints his picture in the light of his own emotions and +prejudices, he is rather the impassioned advocate than the calm judge. He +would not only have acknowledged this, but he would have defended himself; +and there is something to be said for his view. Absolute impartiality is, +in the first place, unattainable; and in the second place, so far as it is +attained, it is not always an unmixed good. Pure disinterestedness is apt +to mean absence of interest. It is certainly true that some of the +greatest histories in the world are all alive with the passions of the +writers. Those of Tacitus are so, and likewise those of Carlyle; and +Herodotus had undoubtedly a partiality for Athens. Froude therefore is not +to be wholly condemned on this score; but he ought to have remembered that +the adoption of such a theory of history made it doubly incumbent on him +to examine carefully the grounds upon which his opinions rested. His +cardinal defect was a disregard of this precaution.</p> + +<p>Froude moreover was given to paradox. It has been repeatedly pointed out +that one of the great tasks of the century has been the whitewashing of +scoundrels. De Quincey undertook Judas. Carlyle in his later days +performed the service for Frederick. Froude in his justification of Henry +VIII. was only following a fashion. Nevertheless, the twisting of facts, +the exaggeration of all that tells on the one side and the slurring or +suppression of arguments on the other, are grave faults in history. And +these are the almost inevitable results of the indulgence in paradox and +the advocacy of weak causes.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> All the cleverness is unconvincing, and the +detection of the sophistry brings discredit upon the whole work into which +it is admitted.</p> + +<p>This is the case of the <i>advocatus diaboli</i> against Froude. It is a +re-statement of the main points in Freeman’s indictment. But a history is +a piece of literature as well as a record of facts; and as literature +Froude’s work stands very high. In the first place, he is great in style. +Not that his English is of the kind that calls attention to itself. It is +seldom magnificent, but it is always adequate, and the reader never feels +himself jarred by want of taste or befogged by obscurity either of thought +or expression. It is wholly free from affectation. Froude concerned +himself merely to express his meaning, and wrote a good style because he +did not trouble himself about style. He answered impatiently those who +inquired into the secret of his prose, telling them that he only wrote +what he thought and let the style take care of itself.</p> + +<p>Froude had moreover a great talent for the delineation of character. +Whether his characters are always true to fact may be questioned; but his +Henry VIII., his Queen Mary and his Queen Elizabeth certainly leave the +impression of living human beings, and the charm of his history is largely +due to the vividness with which he paints them.</p> + +<p>Froude never undertook another work on such a scale as the <i>History</i>. +Perhaps he realised that the scale was too large. The plan of the <i>Short +Studies on Great Subjects</i> (1867-1883) was in some respects better suited +to him. In these essays he gives with unsurpassed vigour the thoughts of a +powerful mind on themes of special interest; and as they do not pretend to +be exhaustive the writer’s weaknesses are not brought into prominence. +<i>The English in Ireland in the Eighteenth Century</i> (1872-1874) was, next +to the great <i>History</i>, his largest work. But Irish history has been and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> +is the source of so much passion that the present generation is no +favourable time for either writing or criticising such a work. Later, in +1889, the historical romance, <i>The Two Chiefs of Dunboy</i>, showed that his +interest in the country still survived; and those who know Ireland are the +readiest to acknowledge that Froude has not only written an interesting +story, but has shown great insight into the country and its inhabitants.</p> + +<p>But the principal work of Froude’s later years was his biography of +Carlyle, the first instalment of which was published in 1882, and the +second two years later. No biography has ever raised a greater storm of +indignation; nor can it be denied that for this Froude was partly to +blame. His method is ruthless, and in some cases its justice is +questionable. At the same time, the condemnation passed upon him has been +unmeasured; and no small part of it has been due to the disappointment of +worshippers of Carlyle at the discovery that if the head of their idol was +pure gold the feet were miry clay. Froude has written, perhaps one of the +least judicious, but certainly one of the most readable of English +biographies.</p> + +<p>The other works of Froude are of inferior consequence. Neither his <i>Julius +Cæsar</i> nor his <i>Erasmus</i> is calculated to increase his reputation; while +the very interesting <i>Oceana</i> indicates, more clearly than any of his +other writings, the source of his greatest errors—a habit of jumping to +conclusions from insufficient premisses. Froude pronounces confidently +upon the colonies on no better ground than a hurried visit and a few +conversations with chance residents, who might not always be +disinterested. Yet <i>Oceana</i> had more influence than many a better book. +Like Seeley’s <i>Expansion of England</i> it was partly the consequence, but +also partly the cause of the great change in public opinion whereby the +colonies, regarded thirty years ago as little<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> better than a burden, have +come to be considered the principal support of the greatness of England.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Alexander William Kinglake<br />(1809-1891).</div> + +<p>The historian generally prefers to work upon a subject removed to some +distance from his own time, but the intense interest of a great armed +struggle not infrequently makes it an exception. Thus, the Peninsular War +found a contemporary historian in Napier, and similarly Alexander William +Kinglake wrote the story of the next great European contest in which +England was engaged after the fall of Napoleon. He had previously won a +purer literary fame in the fascinating volume of travel, <i>Eothen</i>, +published in 1844. The journey of which it is a record had been made about +nine years earlier, and <i>Eothen</i> as finally published was the result of +long thought and of fastidious care in literary workmanship. It is little +concerned with facts and occurrences, attempting rather to reproduce the +effect of the life and the scenes of the East.</p> + +<p>The reputation acquired by this book opened up for Kinglake the larger +subject of the Crimean War. He had accompanied the expedition from love of +adventure, and chance made him acquainted with Lord Raglan, whose papers +were ultimately intrusted to him. <i>The Invasion of the Crimea</i> (1863-1887) +is open to several serious objections. It is far too long, and the style +is florid, diffuse and highly mannered. Moreover, Kinglake is a most +prejudiced historian. There is no mean in his judgment; he either can see +no faults, or he can see nothing else. Raglan and St. Arnaud are examples +of the two extremes. But frequently the historian supplies the corrective +to his own judgment. If the battle of the Alma was won as Kinglake says it +was, then it was won not by generalship but by hard fighting plus a lucky +blunder on the part of the general.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> On the other hand, Kinglake sustains +the interest with great skill, especially in the battle volumes. Long as +are the accounts of the Alma and of Balaclava, they are perfectly clear, +and the impression left is indelible.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Henry Thomas Buckle<br />(1821-1862).</div> + +<p>It has been already hinted that the chief defect in this great mass of +historical work is the want of a philosophy of history. The unmanageable +volume of material almost smothers the intellect. An attempt to make good +the defect was made by Henry Thomas Buckle, in his <i>History of +Civilisation</i> (1857-1861), with results not altogether satisfactory. +Buckle was a man of vast reading and tenacious memory; but no knowledge, +however extensive, could at that time have sufficed to do what he +attempted. He soon discovered this himself, and what he has executed is a +mere fragment of his daring design. Even so, it is larger than his +materials justified. In accounting for Buckle’s failure, stress has often +been laid upon the fact that his education was private. This is a little +pedantic. Grote, whose history has been accepted at the universities as +the best available, was of no university. Mill, one of the men who have +most influenced thought in this century, was of none either. Gibbon, +perhaps the greatest of historians, has put on record how little he owed +to Oxford; and Carlyle has told us with characteristic vigour how +unprofitable he thought his university of Edinburgh. The men who did not +go to a university have done good work; and the men who did go to one have +declared that they owed little or nothing to the education there received. +In the face of such facts it is impossible to account so for the failure +of Buckle. The real reason, besides the cardinal fact that the attempt was +premature, is that Buckle, though he had the daring of the speculator’s +temperament, had neither its caution nor its breadth. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> great +speculative geniuses of the world have been prudent as well as bold. No +one is bolder than Aristotle, but no one is more careful to lay first a +broad foundation for his speculations. Buckle did not use his great +knowledge so. His account of the causes of things always rouses suspicion +because it is far too simple. He never understood how complex the life of +a nation is; and when he came to write he practically rejected the greater +part of his knowledge and used only the small remainder. He was moreover a +man of strong prejudices. He could not endure the ecclesiastical type of +mind or the ecclesiastical view of things; and his account of civilisation +in Scotland is completely vitiated by his determination to regard the +Church, before the Reformation and after the Reformation alike, as merely +a weight on the wheel, not a source of energy and forward movement.</p> + +<p>Buckle then illustrates the tendency of the mind, noted by Bacon, to grasp +prematurely at unity. This very fact, conjoined with the clearness and +vigour of his style, was the reason of his popularity. When the inadequacy +of his theories began to be perceived there came a reaction. But +inevitably those theories will be replaced by others. To some extent they +have been replaced already by the theories of two writers, Sir Henry Maine +and Mr. W. E. Hartpole Lecky, of whom the latter belongs, however, rather +to the period still current than to the Age of Tennyson.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Sir Henry Maine<br />(1822-1888).</div> + +<p>The majority of Maine’s works too were published after the year 1870, but +as his most awakening and original book, <i>Ancient Law</i>, appeared as early +as 1861, we may fairly regard him as belonging to the period under +consideration. Sir Henry Maine was a great teacher as well as a great +writer, and he had already acquired a considerable reputation before the +appearance of his <i>Ancient Law</i>. But it was that book which established +his name as an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> original thinker. It has two great merits. It is written +in a most lucid, pleasant style, and it is decidedly original in +substance. Maine’s design is far less ambitious than Buckle’s; but for +that very reason his performance is more adequate. The most conspicuous +distinction between the two is that the later writer shows in far greater +measure than his predecessor the modern sense of the importance of +origins. It was this that gave his work importance. To a great extent the +task of recent historians has been to trace institutions to their source, +and explain their later development by means of the germs out of which +they have grown. In this respect Maine was a pioneer, and his later work +was just a fuller exposition of the principles at the root of <i>Ancient +Law</i>. His <i>Village Communities</i> (1871) and his <i>Early History of +Institutions</i> (1875) are both inspired by the same idea. In his <i>Popular +Government</i> (1885) he may be said to break new ground; but it is easy to +see the influence on that book of the author’s prolonged study of early +forms of society. These later books are not perhaps intrinsically inferior +to <i>Ancient Law</i>, but they are less suggestive, just because so much of +the work had been already done by it.</p> + +<p>Biography is another form of history, and it is not surprising that a +period so rich in historical writings should also be distinguished in +biography. If Boswell’s <i>Johnson</i> is still supreme, the Age of Tennyson +has produced several lives surpassed only by it. Two of the best of these +lives, Carlyle’s <i>Sterling</i> and Froude’s <i>Carlyle</i>, were written by +historians, and have been noticed along with their other works. Another +remarkable book, the <i>Autobiography</i> of John Stuart Mill, is likewise best +taken along with the more formal works of the philosopher. But even after +these large deductions, and after a rigid exclusion of everything that is +not, both in form and substance, of very high<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> quality, there remain at +least two men of great distinction in literature, J. G. Lockhart and A. P. +Stanley, who must be treated as first and chiefly biographers.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">John Gibson Lockhart<br />(1794-1854).</div> + +<p>John Gibson Lockhart was a man of many gifts and accomplishments, a good +scholar, a keen satirist and critic, a powerful novelist, an excellent +translator. He was accomplished with the pencil as well as with the pen, +and some of his caricatures are at once irresistibly amusing and +profoundly true. His ‘Scotch judge’ and ‘Scotch minister’ would make the +reputation of a number of <i>Punch</i>. His biting wit won for him the +<i>sobriquet</i> of ‘the Scorpion;’ but notwithstanding his sting he won and +retained through life many warm friends. He was trained for the Scottish +bar, but attached himself to the literary set of <i>Blackwood</i>, in which +Christopher North was the most striking figure. With him and Hogg Lockhart +was concerned in an exceedingly amusing skit, the famous <i>Chaldee +Manuscript</i>; but the joke gave so much offence that this ‘promising babe’ +was strangled in the cradle. A good deal of more serious literary work +belongs to the period before 1830,—the novels, a mass of criticism, and +the <i>Spanish Ballads</i>. Then too was formed the connexion which opened to +Lockhart the great work of his life. He was introduced to Scott in 1818. +The acquaintance prospered. Scott liked the clever young man, Scott’s +daughter liked him still better, and in 1820 Lockhart married Sophia +Scott. Largely through her father’s influence he was appointed editor of +the <i>Quarterly Review</i>, an office which he held until 1853, and in which +he became to a very great degree, both by reason of what he wrote and of +what he printed, responsible for the tone of criticism at the time.</p> + +<p>Lockhart undoubtedly shared that excessive personality which was the blot +of criticism, and especially of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> <i>Blackwood</i> school, in his +generation. He has been charged with the <i>Blackwood</i> article on Keats, and +with the <i>Quarterly</i> article on <i>Jane Eyre</i>, but he may now be acquitted +of both these sins. It was however Lockhart who wrote the <i>Quarterly</i> +article on Tennyson’s early poems; but this, though bad in tone and +excessively severe, is to a large extent critically sound. So far as they +can be traced, Lockhart’s criticisms are such as might be expected from +his mind,—clear, incisive and vigorous. They are however often +unsympathetic and harsh, because criticism was then too apt to be +interpreted as fault-finding, and Lockhart could not wholly free himself +from the influence of a vicious tradition.</p> + +<p>But it is by his <i>Life of Scott</i> (1836-1838) that Lockhart will live in +literature. He had in an ample measure the first of all requirements in a +biographer, personal acquaintance with the man whose life he wrote. Almost +from the time of his introduction, and certainly from the date of his +marriage, Lockhart’s relations with Scott were of the closest; and though +he was not personally familiar with the facts of Scott’s earlier life, he +knew quite enough to understand the springs of the man’s character. +Moreover, in the autobiographical fragment and in the endless stores of +family and friendly anecdote open to him he had ample means of making good +the deficiency. For among Lockhart’s advantages is to be reckoned the fact +that he had not merely married into the family, but had married, as it +were, into the circle of friends. The <i>Life of Scott</i> shows that the +families of Abbotsford, of Chiefswood and of Huntley Burn (the last +Scott’s great friends the Fergusons) were for many purposes only one +larger family.</p> + +<p>There are certain dangers, as well as great advantages, to the biographer +even in intimate friendship. Misused in one way, it lowers the +biographer’s own character; misused<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> in another, it either lowers or +unnaturally exalts that of his subject. Boswell, employing his materials +with excellent effect for the purposes of his book, degrades himself. +Froude, making a mistake of another sort, exaggerates all the less lovable +characteristics of Carlyle; while there are multitudes who paint pictures +not of flesh and blood, but of impossible saints and heroes. ‘A love +passing the love of biographers’ was Macaulay’s phrase for the excess of +hero-worship. Lockhart has avoided all these errors. When his book was +read the contradictory charges were brought against him, on the one hand +of having exaggerated Scott’s virtues and concealed his faults, and on the +other of ungenerous and derogatory criticism. We may be sure that +Lockhart’s temptation, if he felt any, was rather to ‘extenuate’ than to +‘set down in malice.’ But, with a noble confidence in a noble character, +he does not extenuate. To describe Scott as a mere money-lover would be +untrue; yet many have felt that there is a fault in his relation to +wealth, and Lockhart uses just the right words when he says, ‘I dare not +deny that he set more of his affections, during great part of his life, +upon worldly things, wealth among others, than might have become such an +intellect;’ and he gives just the right explanation when he goes on to +trace this defect to its root in the imagination. In his treatment of the +commercial matters in which Scott was involved, Lockhart is equally +judicial.</p> + +<p>The tact of Lockhart deserves as much praise as his fairness of judgment. +As regards part of his work, he was put to the test a few years ago by the +publication of Scott’s <i>Journal</i>. Lockhart had made liberal extracts from +this journal, explaining at the same time that passages were necessarily +suppressed because of their bearing upon persons then alive. A comparison +of his extracts with the journal now accessible <i>in extenso</i> shows how +skilfully he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> suppressed what was likely to give pain, while at the same +time producing much the same general impression as the whole document +leaves.</p> + +<p>A biography, like a letter, may be said to have two authors, the man +written about and the person who writes. Scott certainly gave Lockhart the +greatest assistance, both by what he wrote and by what he was. At the +beginning the delightful fragment of autobiography, towards the end the +profoundly interesting <i>Journal</i>, and all through the free, manly, +large-hearted letters, were materials of the choicest sort. Scott himself +moreover, genial, cordial, of manifold activity, a centre of racy +anecdote, was a person whom it was far more easy to set in an attractive +frame than any mere literary recluse. Many could have produced a good life +of such a man. Lockhart’s special praise is that he has written a great +one. Except Johnson, there is no English man of letters so well depicted +as Scott. Lockhart’s taste and style are excellent. The caustic wit which +ran riot in the young <i>Blackwood</i> reviewer is restrained by the experience +of years and by the necessities of the subject. Lockhart’s own part of the +narrative is told in grave, temperate English, simple almost to severity, +but in a high degree flexible. In the brighter parts there is a pleasant +lightness in Lockhart’s touch; in the more serious parts he is weighty and +powerful; and on occasion, especially towards the end, there is a +restrained emotion which proves that part of his wonderful success is due +to the fact that his heart was in his work.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Arthur Penrhyn Stanley<br />(1815-1881).</div> + +<p>Arthur Penrhyn Stanley ranks considerably below Lockhart, yet his <i>Life of +Arnold</i> (1844) is inferior only to the few unapproachable masterpieces of +biography. Stanley was a fluent and able writer in several fields, but in +most respects his work is now somewhat discredited.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> His <i>Commentary on +the Epistles to the Corinthians</i> (1855) has been severely handled for +inaccuracy and defective scholarship. His <i>Lectures on the Eastern Church</i> +(1861) and <i>On the Jewish Church</i> (1863-1876), and his book of Eastern +travel, <i>Sinai and Palestine</i> (1856) are delightful in literary execution, +but they are popular rather than solid. Stanley neither was nor, +apparently, cared to be exact. He trusted too much to his gift of making +things interesting, and had an inadequate conception of the duty he owed +to his readers of writing what was true. Other travellers who have +followed his footsteps in the East have sometimes found that the scenes he +describes, in charming English, are such as are visible only to those +whose eyes can penetrate rocks and mountains. This constitutional +inaccuracy is a blot upon nearly all his works, and his one permanent +contribution to literature will probably prove to be the <i>Life of Dr. +Arnold</i>. There is here, as Stanley’s biographer justly says, ‘a glow of +repressed enthusiasm which gives to the work one of its greatest charms.’ +Stanley loved Arnold, and threw himself with unwonted thoroughness into +the task of depicting him. For two years, we are told, he abandoned for it +every other occupation that was not an absolute duty. The principal defect +of the <i>Life</i> is that the plan—a portion of narrative, and then a body of +letters—is too rigid and mechanical. But the narrative is exceedingly +good, giving within moderate compass a clear impression of Arnold; and the +letters are well selected and full of interest.</p> + + +<p class="center"><br /><span class="smcap">Minor Historians and Biographers.</span></p> + +<div class="sidenote">Sir Archibald Alison<br />(1792-1867).</div> + +<p>Sir Archibald Alison was the son of a clergyman who won a name for a work +on the <i>Principles of Taste</i>. Alison practised at the Scottish bar, became +Sheriff of Lanarkshire,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> and was knighted for his services to literature. +His <i>magnum opus</i> is a <i>History of Europe during the French Revolution</i>, +which he afterwards continued to the accession of Napoleon III. It is +laborious and honest, though not unprejudiced. Disraeli sneeringly said +that ‘Mr. Wordy’ had proved by his twenty volumes that Providence was on +the side of the Tories.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">John Hill Burton<br />(1809-1881).</div> + +<p>John Hill Burton, best known as the historian of Scotland, was an +industrious man of letters, who wrote on many subjects,—<i>The Scot +Abroad</i>, <i>The Book Hunter</i>, and <i>The Age of Queen Anne</i>, as well as the +<i>History of Scotland</i>. The last is the work of a capable and careful +writer rather than of a great historian. Burton is sensible and +dispassionate, and he has collected and put into shape the principal +results of modern research as applied to Scotland.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">John Forster<br />(1812-1876).</div> + +<p>John Forster was a laborious but somewhat commonplace writer. He was the +author of a <i>Life of Goldsmith</i> (1848) and a <i>Life of Sir John Eliot</i> +(1864). But his most valuable works are two biographies of contemporaries, +the <i>Life of Landor</i> (1869) and the <i>Life of Dickens</i> (1872-1874). Forster +had little power of realising character, and the subjects of his +biographies are never clearly outlined. His <i>Life of Dickens</i> has an +importance beyond its intrinsic merits, because it is the most +authoritative book on the great novelist.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Walter Farquhar Hook<br />(1798-1875).</div> + +<p>Walter Farquhar Hook was a prominent clergyman, whose doctrine, that the +English Roman Catholics were really seceders from the Church of England, +caused a great stir when it was first promulgated. His vast design of the +<i>Lives of the Archbishops of Canterbury</i> (1860-1876) was ultimately +executed in twelve big volumes. The plan<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> was too large and the characters +treated too multifarious for really good biography, but it is solid and +valuable work.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Sir John William Kaye<br />(1814-1876).</div> + +<p>Sir John William Kaye wrote two meritorious books of military history, +<i>The History of the War in Afghanistan</i> (1851), and <i>The History of the +Sepoy War in India</i> (1864-1876). The latter, which roused some +controversy, was left unfinished at Kaye’s death, and was afterwards +completed by Colonel Malleson.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Sir Francis Palgrave<br />(1788-1861).</div> + +<p>Sir Francis Palgrave was in the early part of his life an active +contributor to the <i>Edinburgh</i> and <i>Quarterly Reviews</i>, and a diligent +editor of state documents. His <i>Rise and Progress of the English +Commonwealth</i> (1832) threw much light on the early history of England. +Palgrave was in his day one of the most earnest students of mediæval +history.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Philip Henry, Earl Stanhope<br />(1805-1875).</div> + +<p>Philip Henry, Earl Stanhope, wrote the <i>History of the War of the +Succession in Spain</i>, the <i>History of the Reign of Queen Anne</i>, and the +<i>History of England from the Peace of Utrecht to the Peace of Versailles</i>. +He took great pains with his work, but he does not reach distinction +either of thought or style.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Sir William Stirling-Maxwell<br />(1818-1878).</div> + +<p>Sir William Stirling-Maxwell is less widely known than he deserves to be, +but this is partly due to the expensiveness of his works. He wrote <i>Annals +of the Artists of Spain</i>, <i>The Cloister Life of Charles V.</i>, <i>Velasquez +and his Work</i>, and a posthumous book, <i>Don John of Austria</i>. All his work +is distinguished for learning and good taste.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Agnes Strickland<br />(1806-1874)</div> + +<p>Agnes Strickland was a popular writer whose work is readable rather than +profound or original. Her principal books are the <i>Lives of the Queens of +England</i>, followed up by <i>Lives of the Queens of Scotland</i>.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Patrick Fraser Tytler<br />(1791-1849).</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span>Patrick Fraser Tytler, another historian of Scotland, came of a family +distinguished both in literature and in law. His <i>History of Scotland</i> has +been superseded in general favour by Burton’s, which has the advantage of +embodying more recent research. Tytler however was the abler man of the +two, and he had a higher literary gift than Burton. Except where the +narrative has to be re-written in the light of later discoveries, his +judgment is always worth weighing.</p> + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII.</h2> +<p class="center"><span class="large">THEOLOGY AND PHILOSOPHY.</span></p> + +<p>The early part of the nineteenth century was not very prolific in the +department of speculative thought, but signs of movement may be detected +in the third decade. Each of the English universities became the centre of +a very active intellectual society. The Cambridge men showed a bent +towards general literature and philosophy, or to theology of a type +cognate to philosophy. In the works of Whately Oxford gave signs of a +philosophical revival; but she devoted herself mainly to theology, and the +practical isolation of Whately, a hard and arid though a vigorous man, +calls the more attention to her speculative poverty. The celebrated +‘Oxford movement,’ whose roots are in the twenties, though its visible +growth dates only from the thirties, is of incomparably greater importance +than this feeble revival.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">John Keble<br />(1792-1866).</div> + +<p>Newman, the great artificer of the movement, rightly traces its inception +to the influence of John Keble. But Keble’s true literary form is poetry, +and his principal contribution to poetry belongs to the preceding period. +His prose works are not in themselves of great importance. As Professor of +Poetry at Oxford he delivered lectures (in Latin) on critical subjects. In +his character of pastor he preached many sermons, and a selection from +them was published in 1847. The most famous of his pulpit utterances was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> +one preached in 1833 on ‘National Apostasy.’ ‘I have ever considered and +kept the day,’ says Newman, with regard to the delivery of this sermon, +‘as the start of the religious movement of 1833.’ Finally, in 1863, +appeared Keble’s latest work of importance, a <i>Life of Bishop Wilson</i>.</p> + +<p>Keble’s influence was essentially personal, and was due to his saintly +life more than to anything he wrote, even in poetry. The Tractarian +movement took its rise in a longing for saintliness, of which Keble +furnished a living example. He was not to any considerable extent an +originator of theory. Certain germs of theory about the Church, about its +relation to pre-Reformation times, about authority in religion, were in +the air, and they became absorbed in Keble’s system. But his was not a +creative mind, and his position at the head of the Anglo-Catholic movement +was little more than an accident. He was like a child who by a thrust of +his hand sends a finely-poised rock thundering down a hill. In his +literary aspects he is disappointing. A brilliant boy and a most blameless +man, he remains throughout too little of this world. The pale perfection +of his life is reflected in his works. He would have been better had he +been less good; he would have been much better had he been less feminine.</p> + +<p>In the ranks of the movement so initiated were included an unusual number +of men who must be classed among the ‘might-have-beens’ of literature; men +of great reputation eclipsed by premature death, men who never wrote, or +men whose writings disappointed expectation. Nearly all its members had +literary tastes, a fact not surprising when we consider how large a part +imagination played in its start and development. But Hurrell Froude, one +of the most daring-minded men engaged in it, died early, leaving only +inadequate remains as evidence of his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> great gifts. W. G. Ward lived, but +only to prove by his <i>Ideal of a Christian Church</i> that the power of +writing good English was not among his endowments; and if the poetry of +Keble is only second or even third-rate, that of Isaac Williams, a +versifier of the movement, is of lower grade still. Manning was more the +man of action than the man of letters; while the work of Dean Church and +Canon Liddon, both of whom had marked literary talents, falls principally +outside the limits of this period. There remain two remarkable men, one +the very soul of the movement, the other its greatest recruit, who have +attained, the first a great, the second a respectable place in letters. +These are Cardinal Newman and Pusey, of whom the latter may be considered +the exception to the rule that the Tractarians were by nature and instinct +men of letters. Pusey was not; he was rather the technical theologian with +no direct interest in letters at all.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">John Henry Newman<br />(1801-1890).</div> + +<p>John Henry Newman has been described by J. A. Froude, in language hardly +too strong, as ‘the indicating number’ of the movement, all the others +being, in comparison with him, but as cyphers. The story of Newman’s inner +life has been told with inimitable grace in the <i>Apologia pro Vita Sua</i>, +and this is not only his greatest contribution to literature, but the best +document for his life and doctrines. There are few studies more +interesting than the contrast presented by this book on the one side, and +the <i>Phases of Faith</i> by its author’s brother, F. W. Newman, on the other. +The younger Newman too has a mind prone to religion, but he decides to +rest in reason, while his brother leans upon authority. Not unnaturally +they drift very far apart; not unnaturally too the author of the <i>Phases +of Faith</i> is amazed that it took his brother ten years to discover whither +he was going.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span>Newman’s education was private till he went to Oxford, where, in 1822, he +won a fellowship at Oriel, then the great intellectual college of the +university. He was at this time a Calvinist in his religious views, and +held, among other things, that the Pope was Antichrist. At Oxford he came +under the influence of Whately, who, he says, taught him to think. But the +two men were essentially antipathetic and foredoomed to part, not the best +of friends. Newman drew gradually closer to men of a very different +stamp—R. J. Wilberforce, Hurrell Froude and Keble. His <i>Arians of the +Fourth Century</i> was finished in 1832, and he took rest after the fatigue +of writing it in a memorable journey with Hurrell Froude in the +Mediterranean. During this journey he composed most of his verses printed +in the <i>Lyra Apostolica</i>, and towards the end of it the exquisite hymn, +‘Lead, kindly light.’</p> + +<p>After his return, in 1833, Newman began, ‘out of his own head,’ the +<i>Tracts for the Times</i>. They culminated in the celebrated <i>Tract XC</i> +(1841), which raised such a storm of opposition that the series had to be +closed. Contemporaneously with the <i>Tracts</i>, Newman was busied with other +works in defence of the <i>Via Media</i>. To this class belong <i>The Prophetical +Office of the Church</i> (1837) and the <i>Lectures on Justification</i> (1838). +He was moreover building up a great reputation as a preacher; and, as if +all this was not enough, he was for several years editor of <i>The British +Critic</i>. The storm raised by his opinions, and especially by <i>Tract XC</i>, +drove him into retirement at Littlemore in 1841. He called it his Torres +Vedras, in the conviction that he, like Wellington, was destined to ‘issue +forth anew,’ and to conquer. But the actual course was different. In 1843 +he retracted his former strictures on Rome, and resigned his charge of St. +Mary’s. For two years more he lingered in the Church of England, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span>foreseeing the inevitable end, but slow to take a step of such importance +without absolute assurance. In 1845 he was received into the Roman +communion. Here the history of his spiritual development may be said to +close. ‘It was,’ he says, ‘like coming into port after a rough sea.’ He +repudiates the idea that his mind was afterwards idle; but there was no +change, no anxiety, no doubt. He seems to be unconscious that this +individual peace may be dear bought for the human race, and that the +absence of doubt is, to use his own favourite word, the ‘note’ of a low +type.</p> + +<p>Among the voluminous works of Newman, in addition to those of his Anglican +period already mentioned, the most important are <i>The Development of +Christian Doctrine</i> (1845), the <i>Apologia pro Vita Sua</i> (1864), <i>The Dream +of Gerontius</i> (1865), and the <i>Grammar of Assent</i> (1870).</p> + +<p>Except the <i>Apologia</i>, no work of Newman’s is more valuable or more +helpful to an understanding of him than <i>The Dream of Gerontius</i>, subtle, +mystical, imaginative. Newman’s great reputation for prose, and the +supreme interest attaching to his life, seem to have obscured the fame he +might have won, and deserved, as a poet. His poetry is religious without +the weakness, or at any rate the limitedness, which mars so much religious +verse. He was, in poetry as well as in theology, a greater and more +masculine Keble, one with all the real purity of Keble, but with also the +indispensable flavour of earth. ‘I was in a humour, certainly,’ he says of +the Anglican divines, ‘to bite off their ears;’ and one loves him for it. +It is worth remembering also that he taught the need of hatred as well as +love; and though he explained and limited the teaching, there is meaning +in the very form of expression. There was iron in Newman’s frame and gall +in his blood.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span>Newman’s mind was fundamentally imaginative, and in him imagination, +though of an intellectual cast, was conjoined with an acutely sensitive +organisation. Moreover, he had a tendency to solitude which powerfully +influenced his development. Finally, along with his sensitiveness and +power of imagination there went a subtle gift of logic, subordinate upon +the whole to imagination, but clamorous until it had received what might +at least plausibly pass for satisfaction. These characteristics together +explain Newman’s work.</p> + +<p>There can be no dispute about the imaginative cast of Newman’s mind. He +had, besides the poet’s, the philosopher’s or speculative imagination. He +pondered habitually over the secret of the universe. There is an often +quoted sentence at the beginning of the <i>Apologia</i> which is vital to a +comprehension of him. ‘I thought life might be a dream, or I an angel, and +all this world a deception, my fellow-angels by a playful device +concealing themselves from me, and deceiving me with the semblance of a +material world.’ It has been said that no one has any genuine gift for +philosophy who has never doubted the reality of material things. Newman +evidently had the necessary ‘note’ of philosophy, but he had it with a +morbid addition which, without careful control, might lead to strange and +even disastrous results. If Newman had only known German he would have +found in the German philosophers an idealism far more profound and more +rational than any he was ever able to frame for himself. But in England +the dominant philosophy was Benthamism, the dominant theology was equally +hard, and Newman turned from both in disgust, took to the theological +road-making of the <i>Via Media</i>, and finally found refuge in Rome, driven +by the conviction that ‘there are but two alternatives, the way to Rome +and the way to atheism.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span>Newman’s sensitiveness produced a shrinking from intercourse and +strengthened a love of solitude probably constitutional and not altogether +wholesome. He was believed to be, and to have the ambition to be, the head +of a party. In truth, he shrank almost morbidly from the idea of +leadership, and it was in spite of himself that he gathered followers. +Even the few friends with whom he lived in familiar intercourse came +‘unasked, unhoped.’ It would have been better for him had he been able to +speak out more freely and to harmonise himself with the world around him. +Instead, he fell back upon himself and upon a study of the Fathers, hoping +to find the full truth in the primitive days of Christianity. This is a +fatal error which, in theory, vitiates most theology, but from the effects +of which a great deal of it is saved by inconsistency. Newman himself was +afterwards led in his course towards Rome to recognise development in +doctrine. The Fathers are doubtless excellent reading, but they are safe +reading to him only who can read them in the light of the present day. It +is vain to think of stopping the wheels of change even in theology. A +creed which meant one thing in the first century, even though its verbal +expression remain the same, means something widely different in the +nineteenth. Newman unfortunately could conceive of modern thought only as +a detestable and soul-deadening ‘liberalism,’ a halfway house to atheism, +as Anglicanism was, in his mature view, a halfway house to Rome. Had he +been more a real participant in contemporary life, his conceptions would +insensibly have taken their bent from the ‘liberalism’ he hated; and, +little as he thought it, he had something to learn from that liberalism, +just as it had something to learn from him.</p> + +<p>Newman was moreover a logician, though he ultimately found refuge in a +communion where the <i>science</i> of logic is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> little needed. The subtlety of +his logic is unquestionable. The doubt which some feel is rather with +regard to its honesty. This doubt however is only felt by those who fail +to understand how behind and beneath and above his logic there spread and +towered his imagination and his emotions. Newman was compelled by the law +of his nature to find a foundation for his religion; he neither understood +nor respected those who let it exist as a mere sentiment. ‘I determined,’ +says he with reference to a time of crisis, ‘to be guided, not by my +imagination, but by my reason.’ It was this resolve that kept him so long +out of the Church of Rome. He is wholly, even transparently sincere. +Nevertheless, in spite of himself, he <i>is</i> guided by imagination after +all. The conclusion is at every point a foregone one; and his pause +results, not in genuine reasons for the change, but in increased strength +of feeling compelling it. This is what observers have noted in Newman’s +logic, and what has led them to doubt his sincerity. His dice are always +loaded, but they are loaded against his own will. The absolute need for +him to rest on authority makes it certain from the start that authority +will win.</p> + +<p>There is no way of using reason except by consenting to be wholly guided +by it. Newman never consented. He always knew the general character of the +answer he must receive, though he did not know the precise terms of it, +whether those of the <i>Via Media</i> or those of Rome. This is the secret of +Newman’s power, in his argumentative works, over those who already +fundamentally agree with him, and of his failure to move those who do not. +For surely it is remarkable how little real effect followed from his +secession, that blow under which, it has been said, the Church of England +reeled. Newman, unlike both his friends and his enemies, was well aware +that few would follow him to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> Rome; and he paused for years because he +believed, on the other hand, that his secession would shatter the party +for which he had so long toiled. The character of the Oxford movement was +changed by Newman’s secession, because by that step many were awakened to +the fact that his brilliant logic had no sound foundation in reason. +Others had been awakened before. J. A. Froude in his <i>Nemesis of Faith</i> +tells how his eyes were opened by a sentence in one of Newman’s sermons: +‘Scripture says the earth is stationary and the sun moves; science, that +the sun is stationary and that the earth moves, and we shall never know +which is true until we know what <i>motion</i> is.’ Froude adds the common +sense criticism that if Scripture uses the word motion in a transcendental +sense it may equally use other words so, and we can never know what it +means.</p> + +<p>When we add to this Newman’s impulsiveness we have a sufficient +explanation of the aberrations of his reasoning. He tried to be and +thought he was cautious; but he was mistaken. The pause he was accustomed +to make before taking decisive action had only the appearance of caution; +and the real impulsiveness of his nature is indicated by several things in +his own narrative. For example, the phrase of St. Augustine, <i>Securus +judicat orbis terrarum</i>, rings in his ears and recurs to his mind and +produces more effect than volumes of argument. ‘By those great words of +the ancient Father, interpreting and summing up the long and varied course +of ecclesiastical history, the theory of the <i>Via Media</i> was absolutely +pulverised.’ Was such a result ever before produced by such a cause? or +was it that the <i>Via Media</i> was in truth built of loose rubbish over +shifting sand?</p> + +<p>The fact is that Newman’s talent for philosophy, though considerable, nay, +almost great even in a strict use of the word great, was insufficient to +construct a comprehensive<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> system without better guidance than he could +find. He was</p> + +<p class="poem">‘Wandering between two worlds, one dead,<br /> +The other powerless to be born;’</p> + +<p>and, unable himself to bring about the birth, he turned back upon the dead +old world, a conspicuous, though personally blameless and most attractive, +specimen of the class of those who sink ‘from the van and the freemen’ +back ‘to the rear and the slaves.’</p> + +<p>Great part of Newman’s power and attractiveness depended upon his +exquisite literary gifts. His mind grew up at Oxford, and few have shown +so much of the <i>genius loci</i>. He is academical in the best sense. There is +a polished scholarliness in all his work, and very little English prose +can be ranked as superior to his. Yet it is perfectly simple. With the +true scholar’s instinct he strives for lucidity rather than magnificence. +His writings frequently breathe passion, but there could be nothing less +like what is commonly called ‘impassioned prose.’ Compare him with De +Quincey or with Ruskin. They frequently betray a straining for effect, +Newman rarely or never. His passages of eloquence come, like his friends, +‘unasked, unhoped,’ because the fervour of his own thought, or the +pressure of circumstances, like the calumnies that provoked the +<i>Apologia</i>, wrings them from him. Always clear, faultless in taste, +capable of great elevation but never too high for the occasion, Newman’s +prose is as likely to be permanently satisfying as any of this century.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Edward Bouverie Pusey<br />(1800-1882).</div> + +<p>Edward Bouverie Pusey was, as regards his contributions to formal +theology, superior to Newman; both as a man and as a writer he was +indefinitely smaller. Pusey early won a great reputation for learning, and +Newman considered his accession to the movement an event of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> first +importance. He had great tenacity, and his adhesion, once given, was sure. +Notwithstanding suspicions at the time of Newman’s perversion, there never +was the least chance that Pusey would go over to Rome; the <i>Via Media</i>, +which had crumbled under Newman’s feet, was solid enough for him. He was +not sufficiently imaginative to push his way into the bog which, like +another Chat’s Moss, swallowed up all the material Newman could collect. +On the contrary, for the forty years of his life after Newman’s secession, +he went on diligently stopping the holes which Stanley and others were +‘boring in the bottom of the Church of England.’ And it is certainly a +wonderful tribute to the strength of Pusey’s character that, never +quailing beneath the blow of Newman’s perversion, never yielding to the +opposition which looked so formidable when his party was small and feeble +and despised, unretarded and unhurried, he should have steadily pursued +his course and raised that party to a foremost place in the Church. One or +two events of his life make it matter of thankfulness that its temporal +power was not equal to its spiritual fervour. He did all he could to +maintain the Anglican exclusiveness of the universities; and he would, if +he could, have used the civil power to suppress opinions he deemed +dangerous.</p> + +<p>Pusey’s writings are purely technical theology, not literature like those +of Newman. Of their value diverse opinions will long be entertained. They +are oracles to the High Church party; but it is well to consider what +opponents think, especially such as have some grounds of sympathy. Pius +IX. compared Pusey to ‘a bell, which always sounds to invite the faithful +to Church, and itself always remains outside.’ In a similar spirit another +great Romish ecclesiastic, when questioned as to Pusey’s chance of +salvation, is said to have playfully replied, ‘Oh, yes,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> he will be saved +<i>propter magnam implicationem</i>.’ These are just the criticisms of those +who have attacked the Puseyite position from the point of view of free +thought. They are also the criticisms implied in Newman’s action. It is at +least remarkable that critics from both extreme parties, together with the +ablest of all the men who have ever maintained the views in question, +should concur in the same judgment.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Samuel Wilberforce<br />(1805-1873).</div> + +<p>Samuel Wilberforce, Bishop of Oxford, deserves a passing mention, though +he was more remarkable as a man of affairs than as a man of letters. He +was of the High Church, but was opposed to the extreme Tractarians. He was +still more opposed to the advanced Liberals. He wrote an article in the +<i>Quarterly Review</i> against <i>Essays and Reviews</i>, he framed the indictment +against Colenso, and he was one of the chief opponents of evolution before +it had been discovered that evolution is all contained in Genesis. His +most formal literary work is the allegorical tale of <i>Agathos</i>; but his +wit and power of expression find their best outlet in the letters which +give to his <i>Life</i> a zest rare in ecclesiastical biography.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">John Frederick Denison Maurice<br />(1805-1872).</div> + +<p>There is no other theological sect as compact as the Oxford school, but +there are two others of considerable importance and distinguished by +fairly well-marked characteristics. Both are imbued with that German +thought of which Newman was so unfortunately ignorant; and one of them +especially had what he would have considered a deep taint of the hated +‘liberalism.’ John Frederick Denison Maurice was the chief of the first +section, while Kingsley, who was more of a novelist than a theologian, and +perhaps F. W. Robertson, may be regarded as affiliated to it. Maurice went +to Cambridge, but was prevented by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> the Unitarian faith he then held from +proceeding to his degree, and ultimately he graduated at Oxford. He became +Professor of English Literature and History at King’s College, London, but +fell into trouble because his views on eternal punishment were unsound. At +a later date Cambridge honoured him and herself by appointing him +Professor of Moral Philosophy.</p> + +<p>Maurice’s theology was always a little indefinite, but it seems best +described by the word broad. His friendship for the remarkable Scotch +theologian, Thomas Erskine, of Linlathen, who, though not a Calvinist, +thanked heaven for his Calvinistic training, is significant on one side; +his position as a disciple of Coleridge on another. Coleridge made Maurice +more orthodox than he had previously been, but also preserved him from +narrowness. Thanks to Coleridge, reason fills a greater space in Maurice +than it does in the Tractarians. From Coleridge also Maurice derived some +of the mysticism, if not mistiness, which characterised his thought. The +want of clear outline is one of his chief defects. Though always +suggestive, he is often somewhat elusive; and perhaps it is for this +reason that his influence seems to dissipate itself without producing +anything like the effect anticipated from it. The practical outcome of the +school of Maurice is poor in comparison with that of the school of Pusey. +This however was not wholly Maurice’s fault. The Oxford school has drawn +strength from what, nevertheless, may ultimately prove to be its +weakness,—the appeal to authority, so tempting to many minds for the +relief it promises. Maurice is not chargeable with this fault to the same +degree. But neither is he entirely free from a kindred fault. He too, like +Newman, argues to a foregone conclusion. In Mill’s opinion, more +intellectual power was wasted in Maurice than in any other of his +contemporaries, and it was wasted<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> because all Maurice’s subtlety and +power of generalisation served only ‘for proving to his own mind that the +Church of England had known everything from the first.’</p> + +<p>The principal theological works of Maurice are <i>The Kingdom of Christ</i> +(1838), <i>The Doctrine of Sacrifice</i> (1854), and <i>The Claims of the Bible +and of Science</i> (1863). He wrote also a not very valuable treatise on +<i>Moral and Metaphysical Philosophy</i> (1848-1862). And finally he wrote a +number of tracts on Christian Socialism, of which he was the originator.</p> + +<p>The Christian Socialists made a well-meant but not very wise attempt to +raise the condition of the working classes. The name is unfortunate. If +the party had thought a little more carefully they must have seen that if +their socialism was economically sound there was nothing specially +Christian about it; while, if it was not sound, neither it nor +Christianity was benefited by the addition of the adjective. The Christian +Socialists had no more thought out their principles than they had +considered the name they chose, and for want of solid ground-work they +failed. Nevertheless, Christian Socialism has left a mark on literature, +in the works of Maurice himself, in the novels of Charles Kingsley, and to +some extent in the writings of John Sterling, who was for a time of the +school of Maurice.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Frederick William Robertson<br />(1816-1853).</div> + +<p>Frederick William Robertson owes his position entirely to the celebrated +sermons which he preached at Brighton during the last six years of his +life. They are not great in scholarship, nor even in eloquence, but they +exhibit a character of many-sided attractiveness which was the real secret +of Robertson’s power.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Mark Pattison<br />(1813-1884).<br /> +<br /> +Benjamin Jowett<br />(1817-1893).</div> + +<p>The other section of theologians made a much firmer stand for freedom of +thought than Maurice. Their leader in the earlier days of opposition to +Tractarianism was Dr. Arnold of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> Rugby. Some of them were his pupils, and +all were influenced by his spirit. In many cases however they came to hold +very different ground from his, and supposing him to have lived and to +have remained stable in his opinions, he might have regarded his disciples +with as much disquiet and fear as he regarded the Tractarians. One of his +pupils was A. P. Stanley, who entered the Church and remained in it; +another was Clough, the story of whose doubts and unrest is written in his +poems; and the author of <i>Literature and Dogma</i> was a third. Outside the +circle of Arnold’s pupils but in general sympathy with them were Mark +Pattison, a quondam follower of Newman, and Benjamin Jowett, the +celebrated Master of Balliol, whose most important literary work, the +translation of Plato, comes after 1870, but whose struggle for freedom of +opinion and whose persecution in its cause belong to the period under +consideration. Jowett was Regius Professor of Greek, and the animosity of +those who detested his opinions took the contemptible shape of withholding +a reasonable salary. They mistook their man and their means. Jowett was no +money-lover; his enemies could not starve him out; and the effect followed +which experience proves to attend persecution when it cannot be made +crushingly severe. He became the hero of the more liberal-minded, and he +moulded almost as he pleased the best intellects of the most intellectual +college of the university.</p> + +<p>Both Jowett and Pattison were writers in the celebrated volume entitled +<i>Essays and Reviews</i> (1860). This was a collection of seven papers on +theological subjects, united only by a common liberalism of view. Few +books, in the main so harmless, have caused such a commotion. The volume +is valuable chiefly as a landmark. Some of the opinions would still be +considered heterodox, but they would<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> be received now, if not with +satisfaction, at least with calmness. At that time however people were +sensitive on the point of orthodoxy. Darwin had just been promulgating an +obnoxious doctrine, and it seemed hard that the faith, in danger from +without, should be assailed also from within; for six of the seven +essayists were clergymen. Legal proceedings were taken against two of +them, but they only let off harmlessly humours which, if suppressed, might +have been dangerous. It was with respect to the Gorham controversy, ten +years earlier, that a Frenchman ‘congratulated Stanley on the fact that +the English revolution had taken the shape of “<i>le père</i> Gorham.”’ The +truth underlying this remark applies to other things besides the Gorham +case.</p> + +<p>In 1862 the excitement was renewed by the publication of Colenso’s book on +the Pentateuch. It seems arid now, for there is nothing attractive in the +application of arithmetical formulas to Noah’s Ark; but it was just the +kind of argument needed for the time and for the audience addressed. It is +commonly objected that criticisms of the Bible are a wanton unsettlement +of the faith of simple folk. One striking fact will demonstrate the need +of some liberalising work. In 1864 the Oxford Declaration on Inspiration +and Eternal Punishment was signed by 11,000 clergy; and according to +Bishop Tait, afterwards Archbishop of Canterbury, the effect of this +declaration was that ‘all questions of physical science should be referred +to the written words of Holy Scripture.’</p> + +<div class="sidenote">John Stuart Mill<br />(1806-1873).</div> + +<p>The society in which such a thing as this was possible stood in crying +need of an intelligent philosophy. The matter was all the worse because +this incident came after the great English school, dominant during the +first three quarters of the century, had grown and flourished, and was on +the point of decay. This was the school which in the early<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> years of the +century had for its prophet Jeremy Bentham, and as inferior lights James +Mill and the economists. During the third decade we see the thinkers who +were in sympathy with these men gradually grouping themselves round John +Stuart Mill, whose family connexions, as well as his own ability, made him +a centre of the school. He was the son of the hard, dry, but able and +clear-headed Scotch philosopher and historian, James Mill, who, almost +from his son’s cradle, set about the task of fashioning him in his own +image. In some respects James Mill’s success was wonderful. ‘I started,’ +says J. S. Mill, ‘I may fairly say, with an advantage of a quarter of a +century over my contemporaries.’ But even he was aware of the concomitant +defects of the system. A want of tenderness on the part of James Mill led +to the educational error of neglecting the cultivation of feeling, and +hence to ‘an undervaluing of poetry, and of imagination generally, as an +element of human nature.’ There are indications all through the younger +Mill’s life as of a warm-hearted, affectionate nature struggling to burst +the fetters linked around him by his early education; and there is a touch +of irony in the fact that in an early mental crisis John Mill found relief +in the ‘healing influence’ of Wordsworth.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">John Austin<br />(1790-1859).</div> + +<p>Among those who frequented James Mill’s house were Grote and the two +Austins, John and Charles, the latter a man of almost unequalled +reputation for brilliant talents, who contented himself with extraordinary +pecuniary success at the bar, and early retired with a fortune. The elder +brother, John Austin, was rather an independent thinker who adopted many +of the same views, than a disciple of James Mill. He never achieved what +was expected of him.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span>S. Mill says that his error was over-elaboration: he wore himself out +before his work was accomplished through incapacity to satisfy himself. +His writings are nevertheless full of redundancies; but he did a great +deal towards forming a terminology for scientific jurisprudence. His +works, <i>The Province of Jurisprudence Determined</i> (1832), and <i>Lectures on +Jurisprudence</i> (1863), are, like nearly all the writings of his school, +deficient in human interest.</p> + +<p>Partly stimulated by and partly stimulating these men, John Mill began to +think for himself and to initiate movements. It was he who in the winter +of 1822-1823 founded the Utilitarian Society, the name of which was +borrowed from Galt’s <i>Annals of the Parish</i>. A little later he was +brought, through the agency of a debating society, into contact with a +wider circle. The battles were originally between the philosophic Radicals +and the Tory lawyers; but afterwards they were joined by those whom Mill +describes as the Coleridgians, Maurice and Sterling. It was under the +attrition of these friendships and friendly discussions that Mill’s mind +was formed and polished after it passed from under the immediate control +of his father. His interest from the start centred in philosophy. Before +1830 he had begun to write on logic, but his first important publication +was the <i>System of Logic</i> (1843). For some years he edited the <i>London +Review</i>, afterwards entitled the <i>London and Westminster</i>. His <i>Political +Economy</i> appeared in 1848. In 1851 he married a widow, Mrs. Taylor, to +whom he ascribes a share in some of his works scarcely inferior to his +own. Her influence is especially strong in the essay <i>On Liberty</i> (1859), +though this was not published until after her death.</p> + +<p>About this time Mill took up the question of <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span>parliamentary reform, and in +1861 published his <i>Considerations on Representative Government</i>. Nearly +contemporaneous in composition, though eight years later in publication, +was the <i>Subjection of Women</i>; while <i>Utilitarianism</i> (1862) was the +result of a revision of papers written towards the close of Mill’s married +life. <i>Auguste Comte and Positivism</i> (reprinted from <i>The Westminster +Review</i>) and the <i>Examination of Sir William Hamilton’s Philosophy</i> both +appeared in 1865. There remain to mention only the <i>Autobiography</i> and a +collection of essays, both posthumous. During these later years Mill’s +life was for a time more public than it had previously been. In 1865 the +electors of Westminster asked him to be their representative, and he was +elected without the ordinary incident of a canvass. In the election of +1868 however he was defeated, and the constituency never had an +opportunity of redeeming its error.</p> + +<p>Mill’s writings may be grouped under the heads of philosophical, economic, +and political. The highly interesting but depressing and melancholy +<i>Autobiography</i> stands outside these classes. Perhaps it is his best +composition from the point of view of literature; and certainly it is the +most valuable document for a study of the growth of his school. The three +divisions are not mutually exclusive, for, strictly speaking, the first +would embrace the other two. In it an attempt is made to lay down general +principles which are applied in them.</p> + +<p>Mill’s theory is contained in his <i>Logic</i>, his <i>Utilitarianism</i>, and his +books on Comte and Hamilton. It has become known by the name he gave it as +Utilitarianism; and as Bentham was the founder and first leader of the +school, so was Mill the successor to his position and authority. It is a +modern form of the theory associated with the name of the philosopher +Epicurus; and on that ground it has been subjected to moral censure. +Perhaps ultimately, as directed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> against the principle, the censure is +sound; but it cannot be fairly turned against individuals. Certainly no +thinkers of their time laboured more strenuously for the good of the +community than Mill and Bentham. In Bentham’s exposition, the philosophy +crystallised itself in the often-quoted phrase, ‘the greatest happiness of +the greatest number.’ His contribution consists in the introduction of the +idea of the greatest number. Whether that idea is logically consistent +with a philosophy of pleasure may be questioned; but it was to Bentham’s +addition that the maxim owed its power and its practical influence on +legislation. It was moreover this consideration, in addition to the fact +that he breathed Benthamite ideas from the cradle, that attracted Mill. +For he was a typically English philosopher. He never of his own choice +dwelt long on purely metaphysical problems, nor did he succeed well when +he was forced to attempt them. His attitude towards Hume’s theory of +cause, after Kant’s criticism of it, is vividly illustrative of his +speculative limitations. If Oxford is the place where German philosophies +go when they die, apparently London in Mill’s time was the place where +German philosophies did not go at all; and even dead German philosophies +are better than the English predecessors which they slew in the day of +their vigour.</p> + +<p>As a Utilitarian, Mill was more valuable for exposition than for the +original elements of his thought. In all his writings he is clear in +expression and abundant in illustration. This abundance, in truth, appears +to the reader not wholly ignorant of the subject to be cognate to +verbosity. It was however part of the secret of Mill’s great influence. He +forced people to understand him. He talked round and round the subject, +looked at it from every point of view and piled example upon example, +until it was impossible to miss his meaning. When we add wide <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span>knowledge, +patient study, keen intelligence and a considerable, if not exactly a +great talent for original speculation, Mill’s influence as a philosopher +is explained. He wielded, from the publication of his <i>Logic</i> till his +death, a greater power than any other English thinker, unless Sir William +Hamilton is to be excepted for the earlier part of the period.</p> + +<p>These characteristics, combined perhaps with a greater share of +originality, appear in the <i>System of Logic</i> as well as in the Utilitarian +treatises. Its merit is proved by the fact that through many years of +adverse criticism it has maintained its ground at the universities as one +of the most useful books on the subject. The freshest section is that +which is devoted to Induction. The <i>Examination of Hamilton</i> shows Mill to +have possessed the gift of acute and powerful criticism of philosophy. He +may not have succeeded in establishing his own position, but he certainly +damaged very seriously the rival system of Hamilton.</p> + +<p>Mill’s <i>Political Economy</i> is, like his general philosophy, lucid, full +and thorough. Though cautious here, as always, in the admission of new +principles, Mill made considerable contributions to economics. The theory +of international exchanges is almost wholly his, and many particular turns +and details of economic doctrine are due to him. In a still greater number +of cases he has been, not the originator, but the best exponent of +economic theory. The caution and judiciousness of his reasoning were +qualities peculiarly valuable in this sphere; and where the views of +‘orthodox’ political economy are accepted at all, Mill’s opinions are +treated with respect.</p> + +<p>The time when Mill’s authority was at its height was also the time when +political economy was held in greatest honour as a science. The writers on +it were numerous;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> and though, with the exception of Mill, they were not +individually very distinguished, their collective work was important. They +developed the doctrines of Adam Smith and Ricardo and Mill; while the +speculations of Malthus acquired through Darwin a new importance, until a +reaction, brought about more by sentiment than reason, led many to the +conviction, or the faith, that they could not possibly be sound. The +doctrine of <i>laissez faire</i>, so influential on government during the third +quarter of the century, was the work partly of the economists and partly +of the practical politicians of the Manchester school. It was never +followed out logically, and before the close of the period there were +signs of a movement which has since led to an opposite excess. Of the men +who did this work Nassau W. Senior (1790-1864), in the earlier part of the +period, and J. E. Cairnes (1823-1875) in the later deserve individual +mention. The former was a great upholder of the deductive theory of +political economy. The latter, in his treatise on <i>The Slave Power</i> +(1862), produced one of the most noteworthy special studies in economics, +and also one of the most powerful arguments in favour of the action of the +Northern States of America.</p> + +<p>It was the practical aspect of the science that chiefly interested Mill in +economics. It was this still more, if possible, that inspired him in his +more specifically political works, the treatises on <i>Liberty</i>, on the +<i>Subjection of Women</i>, and on <i>Representative Government</i>. In his schemes +of reform Mill was, in his own time, considered extreme; he would now be +thought moderate. The caution of his speculation is nowhere more clearly +marked than in his <i>Liberty</i>. It pleads certainly for more power to the +state than the Manchester School would have granted; but it does so only +in order to preserve the real freedom of the individual. In the +<i>Subjection of Women</i> Mill was a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span> pioneer on a road which has been well +trodden since; and, for good or ill, there has been steady progress +towards the triumph of his ideas. In <i>Representative Government</i> he shows +a faith, probably excessive, in political machinery; but, whether it can +do all Mill supposed or not, such machinery is necessary, and his labour +tended to make it better.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">William Whewell<br />(1794-1866).</div> + +<p>Over against Mill, with some points of resemblance, but more of +difference, may be set William Whewell, who, in 1841, became Master of +Trinity College, Cambridge, and who acquired an immense reputation both +for encyclopædic knowledge and for brilliant wit. On the human side he was +certainly more attractive than Mill. Like the latter, he was fascinated by +the great performances and the boundless promise of science; and he is one +of those whose task it has been to formulate a philosophy of science. To +this task he devoted himself more exclusively than Mill, and he brought to +it a greater knowledge of scientific processes and discoveries. Moreover, +his point of view was different. Mill was a pure empiricist. Whewell held +that empiricism alone could not explain even itself; and he therefore +taught that there was necessary truth as well as empirical truth. This was +at once the starting point of his controversy with Mill and the +ground-work of his writings, the <i>History of the Inductive Sciences</i> +(1837) and the <i>Philosophy of the Inductive Sciences</i> (1840). He is best +known by his <i>Novum Organum Renovatum</i>, which was originally a portion of +the second work.</p> + +<p>Whewell’s strong point is his great knowledge of the history of science. +His inductive theory is somewhat loose. It amounts to no more than a +succession of tests of hypotheses; and of these tests the most stringent, +prediction and consilience of inductions, are open to the fatal objection<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> +that they are not and cannot be applied to all inductions. Mill’s +inductive methods also are more stringent in appearance than they prove to +be in reality; but they at least point to an ideal towards which it is +always possible to strive.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Sir William Hamilton<br />(1788-1856).</div> + +<p>Of a widely different school of thought was Sir William Hamilton, +Professor of Logic and Metaphysics in Edinburgh from 1836 to his death. +Hamilton was a man of vast reading, and though it has been questioned +whether his learning was as exact and profound as it appeared to be, there +can hardly be a doubt that it was great enough to hamper the free play of +his thought, and that it explains two of his characteristic faults. One is +the excessive technicality of his diction. His style, otherwise clear and +good, is overloaded with words specially coined for the purposes of the +logician and metaphysician. The second fault is his inability to resist +the temptation of calling a ‘cloud of witnesses,’ without making any +serious attempt to weigh their evidence. Hamilton was a disciple of the +Scottish school of philosophy, and a great part of his life was devoted to +an elucidation of Reid, of whose works he published an elaborate edition +in 1853. But Reid’s principle of Common Sense, as an answer to the +philosophic scepticism of Hume, is little better than an evasion; and +Hamilton had not much to add to it. Besides the edition of Reid Hamilton +published <i>Discussions on Philosophy and Literature</i> (1852); and after his +death there appeared the <i>Lectures on Metaphysics and Logic</i> (1859-1861), +by which he is best known.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">James Frederick Ferrier<br />(1808-1864).</div> + +<p>Hamilton had a great and not altogether a wholesome influence on James +Frederick Ferrier, who in the domain of purely metaphysical thought was +probably the most gifted<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> man of his time. Ferrier describes his own +philosophy as Scotch to the core. There is in it, nevertheless, a +considerable tincture from the German, and Ferrier deserves the credit of +being one of the earliest professional philosophers who really grappled +with German thought. He was also the master of a very clear and attractive +style, which makes the reading of his philosophy a pleasure rather than a +toil.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Henry Longueville Mansel<br />(1820-1871).</div> + +<p>Henry Longueville Mansel, a pupil of Hamilton’s, and joint editor of his +lectures along with John Veitch, afterwards Professor of Logic in Glasgow +University, was the ablest exponent of the Hamiltonian philosophy in +England. Mansel’s power of acute and lucid reasoning was shown in his +<i>Prolegomena Logica</i> (1851), and afterwards in his <i>Philosophy of the +Conditioned</i> (1866). Both were developments of Hamilton’s principles, and +they have suffered from the general discredit of the Hamiltonian school. +Mansel is better known now, by name at least, on account of his <i>Limits of +Religious Thought</i>, (constituting the Bampton lectures for 1858), which +was the occasion of a controversy between him and Maurice.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Harriet Martineau<br />(1802-1876).</div> + +<p>The other philosophical writers of the period were, with one exception, of +minor importance. Harriet Martineau was a woman of varied activity. She +wrote political economy, history and fiction; and her story, <i>Deerbrook</i> +(1839), is among the best and freshest of her works. She is however most +memorable, not as an original thinker, but as a translator and expounder. +She translated and condensed the philosophy of Comte, and did as much as +anyone to make it known in England. She had the great merits of +unshrinking courage, perfect sincerity and undoubting loyalty to truth.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">George Henry Lewes<br />(1817-1878).</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span>Another miscellaneous writer of the Comtist school was George Henry Lewes, +who has been elsewhere mentioned in connexion with George Eliot. He was an +active-minded, energetic man, whose life touches literature at many +points. He too wrote novels, but they did not succeed. He was a critic of +no mean power. He took great interest in and possessed considerable +knowledge of science, and in 1859-1860 published a popular scientific +work, <i>The Physiology of Common Life</i>. But his best known book is the +<i>Life of Goethe</i> (1855). It is an able biography and pleasant to read, +though perhaps, considering the calibre of the subject, rather lacking in +weight. It is however no small compliment to Lewes’s work that it was for +many years accepted, both in Germany and in England, as the standard +biography of Goethe. Lewes’s principal contributions to philosophy were <i>A +Biographical History of Philosophy</i> (1845-1846), <i>Comte’s Philosophy of +the Sciences</i> (1853), and <i>Problems of Life and Mind</i> (1873-1879). In all +of them Lewes shows himself an unswerving Positivist. He accepts and +reiterates his master’s doctrine that the day of metaphysics is past, so +that his philosophy is, in a sense, the negation of philosophy.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Sir George Cornewall Lewis<br />(1806-1863).</div> + +<p>In the sphere of political science, the man next in power to Mill was Sir +George Cornewall Lewis. As Chancellor of the Exchequer in the first +administration of Lord Palmerston, Lewis had the opportunity of making a +practical acquaintance with his subject; but his theories were formed +earlier. Extensive knowledge, combined with clearness of intellect and +independence of judgment, gives value to his work. His <i>Inquiry into the +Credibility of Early Roman History</i> (1855) was remarkable for its attack +upon the theories of Niebuhr, which were in those days<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> accepted with an +almost superstitious reverence. But previous to this Lewis had written his +most important book, <i>The Influence of Authority in Matters of Opinion</i> +(1849), a well reasoned and well written argument, worthy of attention in +these days when there seems to be a disposition to forget the limits +beyond which the influence is illegitimate. Lewis teaches the wisdom and +even the necessity of submitting to ‘authority’ where we cannot +investigate for ourselves, and where all who are competent to form an +opinion are agreed; but he is careful not to set up any absolute and +indefeasible authority which might dictate to reason and against reason.</p> + +<p>Towards the close of the period there are noticeable traces of a new +school superseding both Utilitarianism and Positivism. This school, +nourished upon German idealism, had its centre at Oxford, and the men who +have done the principal work in it were pupils of Jowett. They belong +however to the later period and come within our present scope only as an +indication of tendency.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Herbert Spencer<br />(1820-1903).</div> + +<p>The root of thought in all these men is the idea of development, the great +formative idea of the present century. This idea however had an English as +well as a German growth. In England it is best known through Darwin. But +while Darwin shows its scientific side, the most celebrated of recent +English philosophers, Mr. Herbert Spencer (1820), makes it the basis of a +philosophy. <i>The Synthetic Philosophy</i>, just completed, is distinguished +for the vastness of its design, the accomplishment of which gives Mr. +Spencer a place among the few encyclopædic thinkers of the world. His +philosophy is interesting also because it concentrates and reflects the +spirit of the time. No other thinker has so strenuously laboured to gather +together all the accumulations of modern knowledge and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span> <i>to</i> unite them +under general conceptions. The alliance between the Spencerian philosophy +and physical science is unusually close; and Mr. Spencer in his +illustrations shows an all-embracing range of knowledge, which becomes +minute in those branches of science bearing directly upon the phenomena of +life. The future only can determine the exact value of this knowledge, for +there are grave differences of opinion between Mr. Spencer and some of the +leading biologists, like Weismann; but it may at least be said of him that +he is the first philosopher since Bacon (‘who wrote on science like a Lord +Chancellor’), or at latest Leibnitz, who has met men of science on +something like equal terms within the domain of science. Mr. Spencer’s +unique interest is that he has attempted an exhaustive survey of all the +facts relating to the development of life and of society. He does not go +beyond that, to the origin of all things; for it is one of his cardinal +principles that behind the Knowable there is dimly visible a something not +only unknown but unknowable. We are compelled to regard every phenomenon +as the manifestation of an infinite and incomprehensible Power. In this +the philosopher finds the reconciliation of religion with science; a +reconciliation for which the religious have seldom shown much gratitude, +because they are forbidden to say anything specific about the Power whose +existence they may, and indeed must, assume. On this point there is a +quarrel between Mr. Spencer and the metaphysicians, who dispute the right +of any man to assert the existence of an Unknowable. If we can assert its +existence surely we know it at least in part; and if so may we not by +investigation come to know it better?</p> + +<p>The Spencerian philosophy is the most comprehensive and ambitious +application of the principle of evolution ever attempted. Without showing +anywhere that mastery of detail and that power of marshalling facts in +evidence<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> which give Darwin’s great work its unequalled significance, the +<i>Synthetic Philosophy</i> yet reaches at both ends beyond the limits Darwin +set himself. Mr. Spencer begins by recognising three kinds of evolution, +in the spheres of the inorganic, the organic and the super-organic; and +all the parts of the <i>Synthetic Philosophy</i> find a place under one or +other of these; but the treatment of the first part is omitted as less +pressing and as adding too greatly to the magnitude of the scheme. After +the <i>First Principles</i>, in which are laid down the limits of the knowable +and the unknowable, there follows therefore the <i>Principles of Biology</i> +(1864-1867), where the evolution of life, the gradual differentiation of +functions and kindred topics are treated. Still within the sphere of the +evolution of the organic we have next the <i>Principles of Psychology</i> +(1855), where organisms exhibiting the phenomena of mind are examined from +various points of view to determine so far as possible the nature of mind, +its relations with the universe, the composition of its simpler elements, +etc. From psychology we step to super-organic evolution in the <i>Principles +of Sociology</i> (1876-1896), which is probably regarded by the majority as +the most characteristic part of the Spencerian philosophy. It is certainly +one of the most interesting; for it combines in an unusual measure the +best results of ancient thought with full justice to modern individualism. +Mr. Spencer is a consistent individualist, but a far-sighted one. He sees +that ‘the survival of the fittest,’ and with it progress, are impossible +unless ‘the fittest’ both wins and keeps advantage to himself. Unlimited +altruism would be as bad as unlimited egoism, and would indeed foster +egoism, for it would in the end mean the stripping of generosity to pamper +greed. On the other hand, pure egoism is fatal to society; and the animal +for whom gregariousness is an advantage must fail in the struggle if he is +unfaithful<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span> to the social principle. Hence there arises a society which is +a balance between the two principles. It demands sacrifices from the +individual in return for benefits; but the law of its existence prohibits +the extension of this demand beyond the point where the individual +‘fittest’ survives and prospers. If the demand goes beyond this the course +is downwards; for, as society is composed of individuals, a society in +which the strongest has no advantage is a society in which progress is +impossible, but, on the contrary, deterioration is sooner or later +certain. There is no room on Spencerian principles for any socialism which +does not recognise difference of reward according to difference of +capacity.</p> + +<p>In the <i>Principles of Ethics</i> (1892-1893) Mr. Spencer attempts to apply +the results reached in the earlier parts of his scheme to the enunciation +of a theory of right living. It is here that an evolutionary system based +upon science is felt to be least convincing. There is a gulf never +satisfactorily bridged between ethical principles as gradually evolved out +of the non-moral state, and the ‘moral imperative’ as it is felt by the +human conscience. Hence, the man of religion insists, the necessity of +being specific about that vague Power dimly seen behind the philosophy of +evolution; and hence the necessity, in the view of the metaphysician, of +regarding evolution from above as well as from below. We learn much by +tracing things to their origin; but to learn all we must consider as well +what they ultimately become. It is in fact the final form that gives +importance to the question of origin. The temptation of evolution is +certainly to underrate the significance of the later stages; and the +higher we go the greater are the effects of such an error.</p> + +<p>But whatever its faults the <i>Synthetic Philosophy</i> remains unequalled in +the present age for boldness of <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span>conception and for the solidity derived +from its league with science. No other philosophy is so eminently modern +in spirit and method; and whatever modifications may prove to be required, +thought at once so daring and so patient can never be ignored.</p> + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII.</h2> +<p class="center"><span class="large">SCIENCE.</span></p> + +<p>The achievements of science as a rule hardly come within the purview of +the critic of literature, for language is commonly used by science for a +purpose other than that of literary expression, and even when science is +popularised by writers like Mary Somerville the result is apt to be +something not very valuable for its substance nor yet for its style. +Nevertheless, all science may indirectly, and some of it does directly, +influence literature. In point of fact, this influence has been one of the +great features of the present century. We see it on the one hand as a +force of attraction, on the other as a force of repulsion; for while some +have been fired with the hope of human progress, others have been chilled +by the fear of its materialising tendency. Both classes have been prone to +exaggerate the mere mechanical results of science and to forget that its +true aim is knowledge, not machines. It is however in the sphere of ideas +that we must look for its effect upon literature. Whether we travel by +railways or by stage-coaches, whether we transmit our messages by letter +or by telegraph, matters little; but it matters much whether we are +hopeful or despondent, whether we feel that there is no new thing under +the sun, or are inspired by ideas that seem to open new worlds to our +intellect. We must ask then, in the first place, what is the effect of +science on the spirit of men<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> and their view of life; and in the second +place, what are the scientific ideas which directly and in themselves +influence popular thought and colour literature.</p> + +<p>It is obvious that there are certain departments of science which from +their very nature can have little or no direct influence. The mathematical +researches of men like Sir William Rowan Hamilton are far too technical, +too difficult and too abstruse for popular apprehension. They remain a +mere name, and not even their general import is understood. The same +remark applies to the mathematical work of Augustus de Morgan, who, by the +way, gave valuable hints for Hamilton’s great work on quaternions. But De +Morgan was a logician as well, and the author of the <i>Budget of Paradoxes</i> +is worthy of remembrance in literature. In physics the case is somewhat +different. The processes by which physicists like Joule and Faraday attain +their results remain mysterious, but the general character of the results +becomes known, their great importance is obvious, and they generate a +confidence in the powers of man which in the present day goes far towards +counteracting tendencies to pessimism.</p> + +<p>There are however certain sciences whose influence upon life and thought +is direct, because their results bear upon man’s own position in the +universe. Astronomy, through its relation to the Mosaic cosmogony, belongs +to this class; but its force had been felt long before the opening of the +period. It is especially the sciences of geology and biology that have +changed men’s minds, and it is they that have produced the most books +which, apart from the scientific value of their contents, might claim to +rank as literature.</p> + +<p>Geology was at the opening of the period practically a new science. What +had previously been done in it was trifling compared with what has been +accomplished since<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span>, and its bearing upon questions of universal interest +was not even suspected by the multitude. Darwin in his brief autobiography +relates an anecdote illustrative of the primitive state of the science in +his youth. ‘I,’ says he, ‘though now only sixty-seven years old, heard the +Professor [of Geology in Edinburgh], in a field lecture at Salisbury +Crags, discoursing on a trap-dyke, with amygdaloidal margins and the +strata indurated on each side, with volcanic rocks all around us, say that +it was a fissure filled with sediment from above, adding with a sneer that +there were men who maintained that it had been injected from beneath in a +molten condition.’ Even more striking than any aberration of an individual +is the general fact that the prevailing theory at that time in geology was +the ‘catastrophic,’ and a science with an unlimited command of +catastrophes is no more scientific in spirit than a theology with an +unlimited command of miracles.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Sir Charles Lyell<br />(1797-1875).</div> + +<p>The first need of a science in this state is the accumulation of facts, +and most of the older geologists of the time, like Sedgwick, Murchison and +Buckland, bent themselves to this task. But the man who dealt the +death-blow to the old uncritical view of geology was Sir Charles Lyell, +whose <i>Principles of Geology</i> (1830-1833) marks an epoch in the science. +Lyell’s central doctrine is that the past history of the earth must be +inferred by ordinary processes of observation and reasoning from the +present, and that it is possible to interpret ‘the testimony of the rocks’ +by means of principles which we still see at work. In other words, he was +a ‘uniformitarian.’ The victory of his view established ‘the reign of law’ +over the field of geology, and went far towards convincing men of its +universality. Assuming no causes except such as he could point to in +experience, Lyell showed how the geological<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> formations of the earth +arose. According to Darwin, the effect of Lyell’s work could formerly be +seen in the much more rapid progress of geology in England than in France; +and the <i>Principles of Geology</i> was most helpful to Darwin himself.</p> + +<p>In his <i>Antiquity of Man</i> (1863) Lyell touched the verge of the problem of +organic life. He did so in a spirit of open-minded conservatism. He had +now to guide him the great light of the <i>Origin of Species</i>, and even +before its publication he had had glimmerings of evolution. He saw that +Darwin only extended to the animal and vegetable world his own central +principle. But he felt a deep objection to tracing the descent of man +through some ape-like creature, and hence, while <i>The Antiquity of Man</i> +recognises the long history of the race upon earth, it contains no avowal +of belief in his descent from inferior forms of life.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Hugh Miller<br />(1802-1856).</div> + +<p>Another geologist, who was rather a popular expositor than a profound man +of science, was Hugh Miller. Miller was bred as a mason, and it was in the +quarries where he pursued his trade (quarrying being in his time and +district associated with stone-cutting) that he laid the foundation of his +geological knowledge. But Miller was more than a geologist. He threw +himself energetically into the contest which culminated in the Scottish +Disruption of 1843; and for the last sixteen years of his life he was +editor of the bi-weekly paper, <i>The Witness</i>, which had been established +by the leaders of the Free Church movement as the organ of their opinions. +The sad close of Miller’s life by suicide is well known. His health had +been undermined by early hardships and by subsequent overwork, and an +examination after death proved that the brain was diseased.</p> + +<p>A great deal of Miller’s work was done for <i>The Witness</i>.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> He was a most +conscientious as well as a most able journalist, and he brought to his +occupation a rare literary power. There was an imaginative and poetic +strain in his nature which sometimes showed itself in the weaker form of +fine writing, but often gave eloquence to his descriptions and fervour to +his argument. This is the living part of him; for it is certainly not +their scientific value that causes Hugh Miller’s books to be still read.</p> + +<p>Miller’s most important works are <i>The Old Red Sandstone</i> (1841), +<i>Footprints of the Creator</i> (1847), <i>My Schools and Schoolmasters</i> (1854), +and <i>The Testimony of the Rocks</i> (1857). In their geological aspect they +merely supply the raw material of science. Miller had not the previous +training requisite to give his work the highest value. He knew little or +nothing about comparative anatomy, and therefore could not himself deal +with the fossils he discovered. In the view of modern experts his +scientific value lies in his strong common sense and his keen powers of +observation amounting almost to genius. His function is to stimulate +others rather than to sway thought by great discoveries. A liberal in +politics, he was something of a conservative in science. <i>The Footprints +of the Creator</i> was written in answer to the <i>Vestiges of Creation</i>, and +its author figures as one of the numerous reconcilers of the text of +Genesis with the discoveries of geology. His value in literature is higher +than in science, for he wrote a style always pleasant, and sometimes +eloquent. <i>My Schools and Schoolmasters</i>, a volume of autobiography, is +one of the best of its class in the language, and is the work by which +Miller will be longest remembered.</p> + +<p>Related to geology, and even more influential upon modern thought, has +been the theory of biological evolution, represented within the present +period by Robert<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span> Chambers, Charles Darwin and Alfred Russel Wallace. +Thomas Huxley too, though so much of his work is of a later date, demands +mention for his long polemic on behalf of evolution, begun immediately +after the publication of <i>The Origin of Species</i> and continued till his +death. The work of Sir Richard Owen the great anatomist had an important +bearing upon this theory, but he was neither a Darwinian nor are his +scientific writings literature.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Robert Chambers<br />(1802-1871).</div> + +<p>Robert Chambers stands by himself. He was of the best class of self-made +men, and as a publisher perhaps even more than as a writer did service to +literature. He had great talent for not only acquiring information but +making it popular. His most remarkable book, the <i>Vestiges of the Natural +History of Creation</i> (1844), was published anonymously, and, in fear of +the outcry of orthodoxy, extraordinary precautions were taken to guard the +secret of the authorship. For a long time the efforts were successful, +and, though the secret gradually became an open one, it was not till 1884 +that his responsibility for the book was authoritatively avowed. The +<i>Vestiges of Creation</i> has been unduly depreciated since the time of +Darwin. The gaps in the argument, and still more perhaps the untenable +assumptions and mistaken assertions, are easy to detect now; but it is at +least ungracious to insist upon them. Chambers was not an accomplished +naturalist; on the contrary, Huxley charges him with ‘prodigious +ignorance.’ He had not laboured as long, as patiently or as strenuously at +the subject as Darwin; but at the same time his book is in an uncommon +degree bold and suggestive. The best minds were already dallying with the +idea of evolution, but in 1844 there nowhere existed in English such a +concrete and clear presentation of it as Chambers gave.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> Judged in +relation to what was known and thought then, his work was a memorable, +though, from lack of a sufficiently firm foundation, hardly a great one.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Charles Robert Darwin<br />(1809-1882).</div> + +<p>Charles Robert Darwin is the true father of evolution as applied in modern +science, and of all the men of science of the century he most demands and +deserves attention in connexion with literature. No recent doctrine, +either in science or philosophy, has produced anything comparable to the +revolution in thought caused by <i>The Origin of Species</i>. Its central ideas +have been applied not merely in the department of biology, but everywhere +in the world of thought,—in philosophy, in religion, in literature and +literary criticism. We cannot refer all this to Darwin alone, for the +conception of evolution can be traced for two thousand years or more; but +it was Darwin who first planted it firmly in the human mind, and +consequently he is the chief though not the sole cause of the revolution. +Another element of his greatness, important in a criticism of literature, +is that his works are themselves literature. Writing a perfectly plain +style, he yet succeeds in so expressing his meaning that the manner is no +inconsiderable part of his charm. Some of the less compressed works, like +the <i>Naturalist’s Voyage round the World</i> and the monograph on earthworms, +are as fascinating and as difficult to relinquish as a skilful story of +adventure; and if this cannot be said of <i>The Origin of Species</i> itself, +the reason is that it is so packed with thought that the reader is +compelled to pause over it.</p> + +<p>Darwin, the son of a physician, was originally destined to follow his +father’s profession, and went to study in Edinburgh; but he liked neither +the teaching nor the profession. In 1828 he went to Cambridge, and though +he derived no great benefit from the regular studies of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> place, the +connexions he formed influenced the course of his life. He began the study +of geology under Sedgwick, and he was on very intimate terms with +Professor Henslow, through whom he became naturalist of the ‘Beagle.’ The +voyage of this ship laid the foundations of his fame but permanently +injured his health. In 1839 Darwin married, and in 1842 he settled at Down +in Kent, where he lived an exceptionally retired and quiet life, +compulsorily sequestered from society because of his health.</p> + +<p>Darwin’s literary life had begun before this. In 1839 his <i>Journal of +Researches</i> (better known as <i>A Naturalist’s Voyage round the World</i>) was +printed as part of the narrative of the voyage of the ‘Beagle,’ and in +1845 a second edition was called for. It is full to overflowing of the +results of observation set down in a delightfully easy narrative style. +Darwin was not yet an evolutionist, though the materials are there out of +which the evolutionist grew, and occasional remarks indicate that the +subject was not foreign to his mind. <i>The Structure and Distribution of +Coral Reefs</i> (1842) was another product of this memorable voyage. The +theory maintained is that the reefs are the result of gradual subsidence, +and form the last relics of submerged continents. Geologists were +impressed by the boldness and originality of the speculation and by the +great mass of facts with which, in Darwin’s invariable way, it was +supported. This was followed by two other publications on volcanic +islands, and on the geology of South America. These writings won for +Darwin a high position among men of science; but it was not until the +appearance of the second edition of the <i>Naturalist’s Voyage</i> that he +became widely known.</p> + +<p>The highly characteristic and instructive story of the incubation and +writing of <i>The Origin of Species</i> has been told by Darwin himself. He had +been long haunted by the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span> idea of a possible modification of species; and +shortly after his return in the ‘Beagle’ he began to collect all facts +bearing on the variation of animals and plants. His first note-book was +opened in July, 1837. He read widely, conversed with breeders and +gardeners, and addressed printed enquiries to such as seemed likely to +give him information. He was led to the conclusion that ‘selection was the +keystone of man’s success in making useful races of animals and plants;’ +but he could not understand how selection could be applied in a state of +nature. The reading for amusement of Malthus on <i>Population</i> gave him the +clue. In the fierce competition for life among animals and plants, +favourable variations would tend to be preserved, and unfavourable ones to +be destroyed. He read Malthus in October, 1838. But, to avoid prejudice, +for three years and a half, till June, 1842, he refrained from writing +even the briefest sketch of his theory. In 1844 the first sketch was +enlarged. In 1856 he began to write out his views on a scale much more +extensive than that finally adopted; and yet, even so, it was only an +abstract of the materials collected. In 1858 Mr. Wallace, then in the +Malay Archipelago, sent Darwin an essay which proved to contain exactly +his own theory. On the advice of Lyell and the great botanist Hooker an +abstract from Darwin’s manuscript was published in 1858, simultaneously +with Mr. Wallace’s essay. The concurrence of ideas between Mr. Wallace and +himself set Darwin vigorously to work. He undertook once more to make an +abstract of the manuscript begun in 1856, and in 1859 published the +celebrated <i>Origin of Species</i>.</p> + +<p>The book owes much of its effect to this process of gradual expansion and +gradual contraction. The reader is struck with three things in it: first, +the great range, combined with sobriety, of speculation; secondly, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> +wonderful mastery of detail; and thirdly, the beautiful balance and +proportion, the sufficiency without undue length of the arguments. Hardly +any other pioneer in untravelled realms of thought has left such an +impression of wholeness.<small><a name="f4.1" id="f4.1" href="#f4">[4]</a></small> Neither could Darwin have done so without the +long preliminary training. The <i>Origin</i> bears on almost every page the +marks that it too is a product of selection. Darwin sifts his mass of +examples and chooses those best suited for his purpose. The completeness +of the book moreover is largely owing to the fact, noted by Darwin +himself, that for many years he had made a memorandum, at the moment, of +every fact, observation or thought <i>opposed</i> to his results; because he +had found that such facts and thoughts were more apt to be forgotten than +favourable ones. ‘Owing to this habit,’ he says, with truth, ‘very few +objections were raised against my views which I had not at least noticed +and attempted to answer.’</p> + +<p>No book of this century has roused such a tempest as <i>The Origin of +Species</i>. A number of the younger men of science hailed the theory with +eagerness, and one or two of the older were extremely friendly; but many +were startled and were unprepared to accept views so novel. Still more, +the exponents of orthodox religion were wild against the theory; and in +the British Association meeting in 1860, at Oxford, Bishop Wilberforce, by +an unmannerly attack, drew down upon himself a crushing rebuke from +Huxley. Gradually a calmer temper prevailed, and the problems were +discussed fairly on both sides, as questions of science, not matters of +faith to be determined by an appeal to Genesis.</p> + +<p>The time has not yet come for a final verdict upon <i>The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span> Origin of +Species</i>; but even if Darwin’s theory should in the end prove to need +great modification, his book will still be one of first-rate importance. +It has proved itself already the most stimulating book of the century. +Those who oppose Darwin oppose him now with his own weapons: they are +evolutionists, though they think some other scheme of evolution the true +one. The change is vast from the almost universally prevalent belief in +special acts of creation and fixed types to a belief, nearly as +widespread, in the gradual development of all the variety of life from at +most a few primordial forms. And this result has been, more than almost +any result equally great, the work of one man.</p> + +<p>This great book was followed by some of those special studies which Darwin +had the gift of making almost as interesting as his discussions of central +principles. This is partly because he makes all his work illustrative of +those principles. No one was ever more steadfastly guided by a single +idea; and hence his works have an unusually intimate connexion with one +another. Thus, <i>The Fertilisation of Orchids</i> (1862) is a detailed study +of a subject which occupies one or two paragraphs in the <i>Origin</i>. In <i>The +Movements and Habits of Climbing Plants</i> (1865) Darwin broke new ground; +for it was after the publication of <i>The Origin of Species</i> that he was +led to notice these phenomena. The new material however served the purpose +of the theory, and the author was ‘pleased to find what a capital guide +for observations a full conviction of the change of species is.’ The book +on climbing plants was the outcome of observations carried on in broken +health. ‘All this work about climbers,’ says Darwin, ‘would hurt my +conscience, did I think I could do harder work.’ In <i>The Variation of +Animals and Plants under Domestication</i> (1868), on the other hand, he was +reverting to that department of <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span>investigation in which he had first seen +clear light on the question of species. The most debated point in this +book is the celebrated speculation of Pangenesis. Darwin advanced it, not +as something proved, but because ‘it is a relief to have some feasible +explanation of the facts, which can be given up as soon as any better +hypothesis is formed.’ It throws light however on the essentially +speculative character of his intellect to find that this admittedly +doubtful hypothesis of Pangenesis is the part of the book on which he +looks with the greatest affection,—‘my beloved child,’ as he phrases it.</p> + +<p><i>The Descent of Man</i> (1871) ranks next in wide importance to <i>The Origin +of Species</i>. It is the application in detail of the same principles to the +human race. That the application was inevitable was already evident in the +earlier book; and it was this that brought upon the <i>Origin</i> the most +virulent abuse. Just because it is so inevitable, <i>The Descent of Man</i> has +not the unique interest of <i>The Origin of Species</i>. Once we are familiar +with the view that all the species of animals have been produced by the +accumulation of minute variations, there is no surprise in the idea that +man and all his powers may have been so produced likewise. Nevertheless, +Darwin differs on this point from the man who shares with him the honour +of discovering the theory of evolution. Mr. Wallace, while arguing with +Darwin that man has been evolved out of some lower form, holds that +‘natural selection could only have endowed the savage with a brain a +little superior to that of an ape,’ and that in the higher human faculties +there is evidence of the working of a supernatural power. The position is +a strange one. If the whole creation moves harmoniously through all its +grades by the action of one law, it will need overwhelming evidence to +show that just at the end this law is superseded by another altogether +unlike it. Either the supernatural<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span> governs the whole of life, or its +introduction to explain one stage is gratuitous.</p> + +<p>After <i>The Descent of Man</i> came <i>The Expression of the Emotions in Man and +Animals</i> (1872); and that again was followed by <i>Insectivorous Plants</i> +(1875). The former was originally intended merely to form a chapter in the +<i>Descent</i>; but the materials grew, and the result is one of the most +readable of books. The <i>Insectivorous Plants</i> embodies one of the most +remarkable of Darwin’s discoveries. Its richness is due to the patience +and skill with which the facts were accumulated. Sixteen years passed +between the time when Darwin first noticed that plants lived on insects +and the appearance of the book. In the interval he had done many things; +but, whenever he had leisure, he was always adding to his store of facts +relating to this class of plants; and, as he justly says, ‘a man after a +long interval can criticise his own work, almost as well as if it were +that of another person.’</p> + +<p>Later, Darwin wrote on the fertilisation of plants, in order to +demonstrate the importance of cross-fertilisation; on the forms of +flowers; and on the movements of plants,—the last a kind of extension and +generalisation of the book on climbing plants, endeavouring to co-ordinate +all the movements of plants as variations of an inherent tendency of the +parts to a revolving motion. The theory has not been accepted by +botanists. Last of all, in 1881, appeared the monograph on <i>The Formation +of Vegetable Mould through the Action of Worms</i>. This book is just the +expansion and completion of a paper read by Darwin to a scientific society +as far back as 1837. All that time the subject dwelt in his mind; and when +at last leisure permitted, he developed it into what is perhaps the most +purely delightful of all his books. In greatness it does not come into +competition with some of them at all; but the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span> familiarity of the +phenomena, the care with which they are examined, the skill of the +arrangement and the charm of finding meaning in what had been so +meaningless, have made the volume one of the most widely read of all +Darwin’s works.</p> + +<p>That which distinguishes Darwin from other naturalists is the combination +of extraordinary speculative power with great knowledge of detail and +unlimited patience. These qualities have been combined in others as well, +but never, within the field of natural history, in the same degree. More +commonly they are found separate. The ordinary type of naturalist is the +man who knows an immense number of facts about plants and animals, and who +rests content with that knowledge. He may be master of everything about +the great subject of scarabees, but it scarcely occurs to him to <i>explain</i> +the scarabees themselves, still less to use them in explaining other +creatures. On the other hand, the opposite type, the type which speculates +only without first laying the foundation of fact, is likewise common +enough. How ineffectual this is may be seen from the history of earlier +speculations on evolution. The <i>Vestiges of Creation</i> and the theory of +Lamarck are superseded, not so much because of deficiency in speculative +power, as because the theories are not sufficiently buttressed by facts. +Even though Darwin’s own theory should ultimately be, in one sense, as +dead as that of Chambers, it will always remain one of the landmarks of +thought.</p> + +<p>Undoubtedly Darwin’s intellect was fundamentally speculative. We have seen +how in the book on <i>Variation under Domestication</i> his affection clung to +Pangenesis, perhaps the most questionable part of its contents. He was +restless under the sense of an unexplained fact, and thankful for even a +provisional explanation. He notes the effect upon him of the discovery +that science cannot remain<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span> content with facts alone. Geologising with +Sedgwick in North Wales, he heard about a tropical shell which had been +picked up in a neighbouring quarry. ‘I told Sedgwick of the fact, and he +at once said (no doubt truly) that it must have been thrown away by some +one into the pit; but then added, if really embedded there it would be the +greatest misfortune to geology, as it would overthrow all that we know +about the superficial deposits of the Midland Counties.... I was then +utterly astonished at Sedgwick not being delighted at so wonderful a fact +as a tropical shell being found near the surface in the middle of England. +Nothing before had ever made me thoroughly realise, though I had read +various scientific books, that science consists in grouping facts so that +general laws or conclusions can be drawn from them.’ It is this conception +that he kept steadily before his eyes, and his glory lies in his success +in drawing general laws from his facts.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Alfred Russel Wallace<br />(1822).</div> + +<p>The work of the other evolutionists, so far as it is not technical rather +than literary, is almost accounted for when Darwin’s is described. With +respect to one indeed, Mr. Alfred Russel Wallace, an inevitable injustice +is done whatever course be pursued. He is the co-discoverer with Darwin of +the scheme of evolution associated with the name of the latter; and though +the fame has gone to the elder man, it seems clear that if not Darwin then +Mr. Wallace was destined to stir the mind of the age with this great +conception. Mr. Wallace has been an extensive traveller; he published, in +1853, a volume of <i>Travels on the Amazon</i>, giving an account of journeys +in that region during part of which he was the companion of Mr. Henry +Walter Bates, whose <i>Naturalist on the Amazon</i> (1863) is well known as one +of the most interesting and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span> valuable books of travel and natural history +in the language. It was however his observations in the Malay Archipelago +that led Mr. Wallace to the theory of evolution, and perhaps he is best +known by his book, <i>The Malay Archipelago</i> (1869).</p> + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX.</h2> +<p class="center"><span class="large">CRITICISM, SCHOLARSHIP, AND MISCELLANEOUS PROSE.</span></p> + +<p>It was a maxim of Matthew Arnold’s that the main effort of the mind of +Europe in our time was a critical one. By this he meant something more +than merely literary criticism; but he certainly included that. All will +agree with him that one of the characteristics of recent times is the +desire to understand the meaning and the historical order of the forms of +literature. The great development of journalism has done much to foster +critical work; for a critical view of individual men or of isolated works +can be conveniently expressed within the compass permitted by the +periodical form of publication. The quality of this periodical criticism +is uneven. Much of it is worthless, but the fact that the best critics of +the present century—Lamb, Carlyle, Macaulay, Lockhart, Ruskin and Matthew +Arnold—have all written for periodicals, is proof sufficient that the +best as well as the worst is to be found there.</p> + +<p>One of the features of this journalistic criticism is its anonymity, and +this doubtless encouraged the ferocity characteristic of the early school +of the <i>Edinburgh</i>, the <i>Quarterly</i> and <i>Blackwood</i>. But the evil seems to +have worked its own cure. It would be rash to assert that there is not +incompetence and unfairness still; but at least the bludgeon school of +criticism has passed away. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span> cause is twofold: the fixing of an ethical +standard, and the discovery, which Matthew Arnold did much both by precept +and example to spread, that the rapier is the more deadly weapon. The +critics of the early periodicals had no tradition to guide them, and, like +settlers in a new country, they ran riot.</p> + +<p>A good deal of uncertainty necessarily attaches to anonymous writing, and +all that is possible here is to notice shortly a few of the more eminent +names, avoiding any minute discussion. Some, like Carlyle, Macaulay and +Lockhart, have been mentioned elsewhere. It was however under their +influence, and under the gradually growing influence of Lamb, Coleridge +and Hazlitt, that the criticism of this period grew up. There has also to +be taken into account the spread of German thought, which gave to +criticism greater breath and a firmer foundation in principle, and +conduced likewise to a more careful and patient scholarship. The Germans +have not only themselves done a great work in Shakespearian criticism, but +they have induced the English to do the same. Still, an exclusive +following of the Germans would have led to mischief, and fortunately for +English criticism this tendency has been corrected by the opposite +influence of the French school. Thanks largely to Matthew Arnold, and to +the charm of Ste. Beuve, whom he helped to make known in England, the +lucidity, good form and sanity of French criticism have had their effect +as well as the laborious learning and sometimes rash theorising of the +Germans.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">John Payne Collier<br />(1789-1883).</div> + +<p>Shakespearian criticism might almost be said to be in its infancy when the +period opened. The highest reputation was speedily acquired by John Payne +Collier, whose <i>History of English Dramatic Poetry</i> (1831) was a really +valuable contribution to the study of the drama. A later<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span> work of +Collier’s however brought dishonour on his name, and threw doubt upon all +his conclusions unless they could be proved from other authorities. His +<i>Notes and Emendations to the Plays of Shakespeare</i> (1853) professed to +give all the ‘essential’ readings of the Perkins Folio; but when the +mystery which for a time hung over this folio was penetrated, it proved +that the emendations in question were forgeries. Unfortunately these +‘emendations’ do not stand alone. Nearly all through Collier’s work is +tainted with falsehood. He attempted to vitiate the old ballads as well as +Shakespeare, and perhaps even now his evil influence in retarding the +progress of sound scholarship is not wholly annulled.<span class="sidenote">Mrs. Anna Jameson<br />(1794-1860).</span> Mrs. Anna Jameson +was a better writer than Collier, and she enjoys an unclouded reputation. +Her <i>Characteristics of Shakespeare’s Women</i> (1832) still holds its ground +as a fine example of the critical analysis of character. She wrote other +books afterwards—<i>Sacred and Legendary Art</i>, <i>Legends of the Monastic +Orders</i>, and <i>Legends of the Madonna</i>—but none so good as her +Shakespearian criticisms.<span class="sidenote">J. O. Halliwell-Phillipps<br />(1820-1889).</span> J. O. Halliwell-Phillipps did great service to +the study of English literature in general, especially by his elucidation +of the life of Shakespeare; and Alexander Dyce deserves mention for one of +the most useful editions of Shakespeare’s works. The palm for learning and +research must however be assigned to the great Cambridge Shakespeare, +published between 1863 and 1866, under the editorship of W. G. Clark and +W. Aldis Wright. Charles and Mary Cowden Clarke likewise deserve to be +remembered. The <i>Concordance</i> of the latter was until lately the standard +work of its class, and must always remain an honourable monument of +patience and thoroughness.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Sir Arthur Helps<br />(1813-1875).</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span>In the sphere of general criticism, a man of great reputation in the +middle of the century was Sir Arthur Helps, author of <i>Friends in +Council</i>, a collection of social and critical dialogues and essays, +published between 1847 and 1859. Many of these essays are essentially +commonplace, and the book is so long drawn out that it would be +intolerable, but for occasional vivid and forcible passages and +epigrammatic expressions. Such, for example, are the imaginary picture of +the woman taken in adultery, and the description of a great cathedral, +with a thin congregation lost in a little corner of it, a bad sermon and a +dull service: ‘We look about, thinking when piety filled every corner, and +feel that the cathedral is too big for the religion, which is a dried-up +thing that rattles in that empty space.’</p> + +<p>There remain two writers, John Ruskin and Matthew Arnold, who are as +distinctly leaders of criticism in the middle and later portions of the +period, as Carlyle and Macaulay were at the opening of it.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">John Ruskin<br />(1819-1900).</div> + +<p>John Ruskin is an author whose multifarious activity makes it somewhat +difficult to classify him. He has written on art, literature, morals, +economics, society, in short, on nearly everything. He has written verse +as well as prose, and the unwise enthusiasm of disciples has lately +gathered together the rhymes of his youth. If however we regard Ruskin’s +work as a whole, we see that its principal motive is critical, and that +his criticism is mainly directed to art. This is the case with what still +remains his greatest work, <i>Modern Painters</i>. The first volume of this +book, magnificently illustrated, excellently printed, and written with an +elaborate splendour of style almost unexampled in English, was published +in 1843 with the simple inscription,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span> ‘by a Graduate of Oxford.’ The fifth +and last volume did not appear until 1860. The <i>Modern Painters</i> is easily +first among all the English works that treat of painting. Its full merit +can hardly be appreciated until we realise how daringly original it was; +and to realise this is difficult, because of the very success of +Ruskinism. The young graduate of Oxford preached a new gospel, and set +himself in opposition at once to the established canons of art-criticism, +and to the established philosophy of his time. In the former convention +reigned supreme. ‘The man who in the pre-Ruskinian era was the high priest +among connoisseurs was Sir George Beaumont; and Sir George, admirable man +as he was in other respects, when he looked at a landscape, asked, not +whether it was true to the facts of nature, but whether it accorded with +the fictions of convention. “But where is your brown tree?” he asked of +Constable when that painter gave in his adherence to the then +revolutionary course of proclaiming that trees were green.’ Ruskin too +proclaimed that trees were green, and no one has done more than he to +vindicate nature’s right to be what she is. It was their championship of +truth and their earnestness that drew him towards the Pre-Raphaelites, and +made him their formidable and efficient champion in <i>Pre-Raphaelitism</i> +(1851), as well as in many detached passages of his writings.</p> + +<p>While Ruskin was elaborating and completing his <i>Modern Painters</i>, he was +likewise engaged upon works bearing on the kindred art of architecture. +His chief writings upon it are <i>The Seven Lamps of Architecture</i> (1849) +and <i>The Stones of Venice</i> (1851-1853). His appointment in 1869 as Slade +Professor of Fine Art at Oxford greatly stimulated his activity. His +reputation had then reached nearly its highest point. He interpreted his +duties seriously, and threw himself with ardour into the work.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span> Quite a +number of his smaller publications—among them <i>Aratra Pentelici</i>, <i>The +Eagle’s Nest</i>, <i>Ariadne Florentina</i> and <i>Love’s Meinie</i>—are the outcome +of his tenure of the professorship. His second tenure of office, beginning +in 1883, produced <i>The Art of England</i> and <i>The Pleasures of England</i>. He +moreover made himself an art-guide to travellers in Italy; and hence his +<i>Mornings in Florence</i> and <i>St. Mark’s Rest</i>.</p> + +<p>This great body of art-criticism is all bound together by a few +fundamental principles; and it is perhaps his fidelity to principle, +hardly less than the magnificence of his style, that has won for Ruskin a +popularity denied to other critics of art. It will be useful to regard his +critical work from two points of view: its rise in negation and +opposition, and its issue in positive doctrine.</p> + +<p>Ruskin, like every man who has had much to teach, begins by being a +protestant. He finds that all is <i>not</i> for the best in the best of all +possible worlds, and his effort is first to uproot what is bad, and +secondly to encourage and foster what is good. The objects of his dislike +have been so often denounced by him that all know what they are. +Materialism, utilitarianism, a sordid industry merely concerned with the +accumulation of wealth, and caring little either for its use or for the +quality of the thing produced—these have been the objects of Ruskin’s +life-long hatred. The merits of his method of dealing with them must be +touched on later; here it is enough to notice that the motive for his work +on art is the pressing need to find some foundation, other than these, for +the beautiful and good. Though Ruskin was not of the Oxford movement, he +was stimulated by much the same sympathies and dislikes that produced it; +and it is interesting to note how Pre-Raphaelitism in art, Ruskin’s +art-criticism, and the poetic and religious movements of the middle of +the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span> century, all show various forms of the same revolt against the +deification of matter.</p> + +<p>Starting with this opposition to mere material utility, Ruskin is careful +always to define art so as to bring out its spiritual significance. ‘All +great Art,’ he says, ‘is Praise.’ To him, art and religion, or art and +morality, are not so much different things as different phases of the same +thing. Beauty is measured, not by economic utility, or capacity to satisfy +a material want, but rather by transcendental utility, or capacity to +satisfy a spiritual want. In proportion as it embodies the conceptions of +a great spirit, art is great. The artist ought to be faithful to nature, +but mere imitation is not enough. Greatness consists in the something +which the artist does not exactly add to nature, but rather educes from +nature, the something which the gifted eye only can see, but which the +gifted hand can make visible to others less splendidly endowed.</p> + +<p>In his application of these principles Ruskin is sometimes capricious, +sometimes, perhaps, presumptuous, and very often dogmatic. His caprice is +visible in his changes of opinion. We find judgments pronounced in one +edition of his works with the confidence of omniscience, and retracted in +another with frank self-contempt, but with unabated confidence. The +reasons for the one opinion seem, as a rule, just as convincing as the +reasons for the other; and while all men may legitimately change their +views, frequency of change ought to beget a certain amount of diffidence. +That Ruskin’s criticism is sometimes presumptuous follows from its extreme +confidence. He discovers the meaning of every stone in a building, and of +every line and colour in a painting, in a manner hardly granted to mere +man; for, after all, the most sympathetic of critics cannot enter into +another man’s mind, nor can<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span> the most learned completely realise a past +age. This dogmatism, though irritating, is generally harmless enough; but +it is not so when it results in underrating an artist like Michael Angelo, +because he will not fit into the preconceived theory, and in undue +exaltation of the comparatively little, because they sometimes furnish +just the illustrations needed.</p> + +<p>From the same root springs the cognate fault of the intensely subjective +character of Ruskin’s criticism. In a celebrated passage on the Jura in +the <i>Seven Lamps</i>, after an eloquent description of the scene, the writer +imagines it transported to some aboriginal forest of the New Continent. In +an instant it loses all its impressiveness—to him. The reason is that the +element of human association is lost; and he instantly jumps to the +conclusion that this element is an essential part of the charm of nature +to all. Few will dispute that such association is to many an important +factor in the delight in nature. But this has not been a universal +feeling. Some travellers, like Darwin on the Cordilleras or in the +Brazilian forests, have felt, in the midst of untrodden solitude and +unbroken desolation, a sense of the sublime nowhere else to be +experienced.</p> + +<p>That which, in spite of faults, gives Ruskin’s art-criticism its +superiority over all rivals is, in the first place, the fulness of +knowledge whence it springs, and, in the second place, the magnificence of +the style in which it finds expression. Ruskin’s continental travels in +early manhood gave him an acquaintance with the best models, such as could +not otherwise be acquired. He was moreover himself an artist, capable of +good and accurate, if not of great work, and aware of what is possible and +what is not possible in art; and his steady confidence in the existence of +an inner meaning and a serious purpose in all art worthy<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span> of the name +saved him from the thinness of substance and the dilettante trifling too +apt to be seen in writings of that class.</p> + +<p>But it is, first of all, beauty of style that the name of Ruskin suggests. +His prose has been lauded as the finest in the English language. The +English language contains so much that the absolutely finest is not easy +to discover; nor will men ever agree as to the relative merits of simple +and of ornate styles. There is not a little to be said for Oliver +Goldsmith, even as against John Ruskin. The latter writes what is known as +‘poetic prose;’ and in doing so, though he is no mere imitator, he follows +in the footsteps of men like De Quincey, who sought to obtain by prose +effects commonly associated with poetry. This was in part a reversion, but +a reversion with a difference. The eighteenth century had evolved a clear, +direct, simple structure of sentence, well adapted to appeal to the +understanding. It was not unfitted too, as many passages in Addison and +Steele and other acknowledged masters prove, for an appeal to the +emotions. Nevertheless, this was its weak side; and just as the lucid, +bright, highly intellectual verse of the eighteenth century gave place to +poetry more emotional and more varied, so the prose of the eighteenth +century had to receive its complement in a prose more ambitious in design, +more complex in structure and richer in tone. It was romanticism +overflowing, as it were, the bounds of verse. The change was not so much +the introduction of something wholly new as the grafting of old tendencies +on a new stock. The complex structure and involved harmonies and wealth of +imagination which the new writers hungered for were to be found in the +prose of Milton and of Jeremy Taylor. On the other hand, the type of +sentence established by the eighteenth century writers was too sound to +be set aside. It remained the basis, while the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span> older magnificence and +daring were brought back and wedded to it.</p> + +<p>Of this type of poetic prose Ruskin is the acknowledged master. Others, +like De Quincey, have rivalled, and perhaps equalled his best passages. +But excellent passages in De Quincey are much rarer than in Ruskin. The +latter has built upon a broader foundation. All the field of nature and +great part of the field of knowledge have been his. Ornate prose tends to +be descriptive; and in his descriptions Ruskin has, over the mere literary +man, the great advantage which the study of art gives. He had been +educated to observe, and he naturally saw more than others who, even if +they possessed equal sensibility, had less of this special culture.</p> + +<p>Next in importance to his art criticisms must be ranked Ruskin’s writings +on social subjects. Here his interest has been keen and his energy great. +Most of his special ideas have been denounced as Quixotic nonsense, and +some of them, it must be added, deserve a description not much more +flattering. Yet great is the merit of earnestness. Ruskin has always been +fired by indignation against wrong and falsehood, and has always believed +profoundly in the truth of his own gospel. He has had, both as a writer +and as a man, the gift of fascination. Hence, even when his audience was +scanty, it was enthusiastic; and few, whose ideas seem so unpractical, +have succeeded in persuading so many to try them. The story of his +inducing his Oxford pupils to engage in road-making is well known. The +fact that the road was and is, as he laughingly admitted, one of the worst +in the three kingdoms, does not weaken its testimony to his personal +influence; though it may throw doubt on the wisdom of his guidance. In a +similar spirit he founded the St. George’s Guild. This however was no mere +by-work. It was the direct outcome of his writings on social questions, +and it was more remotely <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span>connected with his teaching of art. It was +connected with the latter through his conviction that only to a people +living wholesome lives is sound art possible. It was connected with his +social writings because his studies for them convinced him that mere +writing would do little to cure the evils he saw. Hence in the <i>Fors +Clavigera</i> in 1871 he launched the scheme of the St. George’s Guild. The +idea was to restore happiness to England. ‘We will try,’ said he, ‘to make +some small piece of English ground beautiful, peaceful, and fruitful. We +will have no steam-engines upon it, and no railroads; we will have no +untended and unthought of creatures on it; none wretched, but the sick; +none idle, but the dead. We will have no liberty upon it, but instant +obedience to known law and appointed persons; no equality upon it, but +recognition of every betterness that we can find, and reprobation of every +worseness.’ It is not surprising that plans so visionary have failed to +regenerate society; it is surprising that men should have been willing to +join in the effort to realise such a Utopia. The agricultural ventures of +the Guild are an admitted failure; one or two of the efforts to plant +village industries have had some measure of success, and seem capable of +doing good within narrow limits.</p> + +<p>Prominent among the faults of Ruskin’s social writings is a disregard of +practically unalterable facts. Railways and steam-engines may not be +objects of beauty, but until they find swifter means of locomotion and +production men will use them. To regulate their use and to reform abuse +would be the ideal of the practical social reformer. Denunciation and +banishment are the cures which occur to Ruskin. Similar faults mark his +extremely eccentric political economy; as for example his condemnation of +interest on capital and his ascription of property ‘to whom proper.’ This +would be attractive if we could only find<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span> some one to tell us infallibly, +or with some approach to infallibility, to whom it <i>is</i> proper. +Historically, the stronger man has generally proved the person ‘to whom +proper.’ The condemnation of competition and the praise of co-operation +are open to a similar objection. They ignore the facts of human nature. +There is doubtless room for valuable work in promoting co-operation and in +regulating competition; but no worse service could be done to the human +race than to supplant the latter. Fortunately, no effort is more hopeless: +it is like that sin which Macaulay declared would be unspeakably shocking +if it could be committed, but which, happily, Providence had not put +within the reach of fallen humanity.</p> + +<p>Ruskin’s economic and social writings are certainly not to be valued for +soundness of thought or for sobriety of judgment. They have however the +beauty of style which characterises all his works, they are enriched with +memorable sentences and weighty sayings, and they are inspired by a +nobility of purpose which redeems even the most indefensible doctrine. +Unworkable as his economic principles are, it is impossible to withhold +admiration from the man who has so generously endeavoured to carry them +out; and however numerous may be his crotchets, the laugh at them must be +kindly when he has himself so genially led the laughter. It is moreover +only just to say that, however unsound his own views may be, he was one of +the first to point out the unsoundness of the old political economy. There +is no answer to his contention that a science so abstract, a science which +leaves out of account so many considerations essential to human welfare, +has no right to pronounce authoritatively upon it. The modern economist +would agree with Ruskin that we must reintroduce the factors eliminated +before we can draw conclusions trustworthy for practice.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Matthew Arnold<br />(1822-1888).</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span>Matthew Arnold rose into prominence as a critic somewhat later than +Ruskin, and he did his work in a different sphere. He has the unusual +distinction of being almost equally celebrated in prose and in poetry. +There are numerous writers who have won a considerable, and some even a +great reputation in both; but generally, as in the case of Scott, there is +no difficulty in subordinating the one to the other. In Arnold’s case +there is a difficulty, and though the prediction may be ventured that he +will in the end take rank as a poet, he is probably best known at present +as a writer of prose.</p> + +<p>Matthew Arnold was educated at Winchester and Rugby. He went up to Balliol +College, Oxford, in 1841, and won a fellowship at Oriel in 1845. In 1851 +he became inspector of schools. Besides his ordinary routine work as +inspector he discharged the important duty of visiting and reporting upon +the schools and universities of France and Germany. From 1857 to 1867 he +was professor of poetry at Oxford. In his later years he made two visits +to America, where also he lectured. He afterwards published the addresses +under the title of <i>Discourses in America</i>.</p> + +<p>The prose writings of Matthew Arnold may be classed under three heads. +They are all critical in spirit. In the first division the criticism is of +literature, in the second of theology, in the third of society. As regards +their chronology, the literary criticism is mainly the product of the +decade between 1860 and 1870, but from time to time all through his +literary career Arnold wrote criticism. In theology the period of his +greatest activity was from <i>St. Paul and Protestantism</i> (1870) to <i>Last +Essays on Church and Religion</i> (1877). Social essays, including the +educational writings under this head, are interspersed all through, but +the period of greatest activity, as regards publication, was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span> from the +<i>Mixed Essays</i> (1879) to the <i>Discourses in America</i> (1885). In respect of +merit these writings can also be classified with confidence. The literary +essays are unquestionably the most valuable, the social essays rank next, +while the theological works have the least permanent worth.</p> + +<p>Arnold’s critical work may be said to begin in his poems, and these for +the most part precede his prose writings. It may be doubted whether any +English poet has written as much fine criticism in verse as Arnold. +Besides the penetrating judgments on individual writers, like Goethe, +Wordsworth and Heine, we have a discussion of the principles of art in the +<i>Epilogue to Lessing’s Laocoön</i> and, throughout, a critical view of life +as well as of literature. The volume of poems published in 1853 contained +moreover a critical preface in prose, short but highly suggestive. When +therefore Arnold was appointed Professor of Poetry at Oxford, he was +already a critic of proved capacity, and he fully justified his +appointment by the lectures <i>On Translating Homer</i> (1861), certainly the +most valuable ever delivered from that chair. But most of Arnold’s +critical work was originally written for periodicals; and the scattered +essays, gathered up into volumes, are known to the world as the <i>Essays in +Criticism</i> (1865) and the <i>Essays in Criticism: Second Series</i> (1888). +These, with a few essays scattered through other volumes, constitute the +body of Arnold’s critical work. What is its spirit and method?</p> + +<p>To comprehend Arnold as a critic we must grasp his conception of culture. +His aim is to know the best that has been thought and said in all ages and +by all nations. No criticism was ever less negative. He sees indeed that +the pointing out of deficiencies, indirectly if not directly, is an +essential part of criticism, but it is not the end in view. Again, +Arnold’s purpose is always practical. He was long<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span> regarded as a dreamer, +a ‘superior person’ sitting on a solitary height and on the whole proud of +the isolation. On the contrary, it was just because he was at heart +essentially English, and therefore practical, that he acquired this +reputation. Two of his favourite dogmas in criticism were the necessity of +going back to and studying the classics, and the equally crying necessity +of going beyond our own island and studying the mind of Europe. He was +never content unless he brought English opinion to the test of foreign +opinion. Hence his interest in knowing how Milton appears to a French +critic. For a similar reason he frequently went to foreign writers for the +subjects of his own criticism. In the first series of <i>Essays in +Criticism</i>, the most characteristic and the most valuable, as a whole, of +his critical writings, the subjects are principally foreign—the two de +Guérins, Heine, Joubert, Marcus Aurelius. He turns to these, not because +he thinks them better than the writers of his own country, but because he +thinks more good will come, both to himself and to England, from an +investigation of what is foreign and unfamiliar, than from an examination +of writings illustrating our own merits and charged with our own defects. +The impulse which determines his choice in criticism is revealed in his +<i>Letters</i>. He condemned Carlyle in England and Gambetta in France, each +for ‘carrying coals to Newcastle;’ Carlyle, because he preached +earnestness to a nation that already had enough of it, but was not equally +endowed with other good qualities; Gambetta, just because he evaporated in +words and failed to teach that very earnestness to a nation that would +have been all the better for more.</p> + +<p>The same principle explains Arnold’s insistence on the study of the +ancients. ‘They can help to cure us of what is ... the great vice of our +intellect, manifesting itself in our incredible vagaries in literature, in +art, in religion, in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span> morals: namely, that it is <i>fantastic</i>, and wants +sanity.’ It was for this reason that he dwelt on things distasteful to his +countrymen, or to whomsoever he was addressing. He was eager to carry the +coals of Newcastle where they were needed, the earnestness and practical +sense of England to France, the lucidity of France and her love of ideas +to England. This, combined no doubt with personal taste, accounts for his +devotion to French literature. No one saw French weaknesses more +clearly,—‘France, famed in all great arts, in none supreme.’ But +irrespective of the relative merits of French and German writings, he +thought the Germans a bad model for the English to follow, and the French +a good one, because they, a race of Latin culture, differ from us more +than another branch of the Teutonic stock can do. So too, in his eyes, the +highest value of the classics is just that they present us with ideals +unlike our own. ‘We can hardly at the present day understand what Menander +meant when he told a man who inquired as to the progress of his comedy +that he had finished it, not having yet written a single line, because he +had constructed the action of it in his mind. A modern critic would have +assured him that the merit of the piece depended on the brilliant things +that arose under his pen as he went along.’ The width of the difference +measures the value of the lesson to be learnt.</p> + +<p>We can thus understand the seeming eccentricity, sometimes, of Arnold’s +choice of subjects, and also the superficial appearance of negation in his +criticism. It is only superficial; the essence of the criticism is always +sympathy, agreement rather than difference, the recognition of merit in +preference to censure for defects. Carlyle had already placed criticism on +the basis of sympathy, but it was shown in a different way. Carlyle had a +large share of the dramatic faculty, and an intense interest in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span> +individual soul. Arnold’s genius was social, but not dramatic. He had no +such mastery as Carlyle of the springs of individual character; but he set +himself to understand the society in which the man lived, to grasp his +idea, to look at things from his point of view, and so to explain what +otherwise would be inexplicable. It is the fruitfulness of Arnold’s method +that has made the reading of the <i>Essays in Criticism</i> an epoch in the +lives of many men who have now reached middle life.</p> + +<p>Equally high praise must be accorded to the temper of this criticism. No +writer was ever more uniformly urbane than Arnold. ‘The great thing is,’ +says he, ‘to write without a particle of vice or malice;’ and he never +forgets his own precept. He often gave rise to controversy, and was +sometimes the object of vituperation; but, though he could write with +cutting irony, the controversy was never on his side embittered, and he +never replied in kind to the vituperation.</p> + +<p>In his criticism Arnold laid little stress on rules, and those he did +appeal to were wide and elastic. The one thing he greatly insisted upon +was the necessity of unity of impression. No work of art could be called +great that did not produce a deep and abiding impression as a whole, and +not merely in its parts. In the details of criticism he trusted to no +rules, but rather to a taste saturated with ‘the best of what has been +thought and said.’ His sentiment is expressed in the well-known essay on +the study of poetry, introductory to <i>Ward’s English Poets</i>. ‘There can be +no more useful help,’ says he, ‘for discovering what poetry belongs to the +class of the truly excellent, and can therefore do us most good, than to +have always in one’s mind lines and expressions of the great masters, and +to apply them as a touchstone to other poetry.’ He followed in practice +his own precept, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span> determined to finish up with Shakespeare’s <i>King +Lear</i>, before writing this very essay, in order to have a proper taste in +his mind while he was at work.</p> + +<p>The rest of Arnold’s works in prose are conceived in the same frame of +mind, but deal with matter less tractable to the author. The social essays +are of high quality. Arnold’s campaign against Philistinism, his +insistence on lucidity, not in literature alone but in all the relations +of life, his championship of urbanity, his polemic against narrow +sectarianism, whether religious, or social, or political—all this is +important as well as interesting. The playfulness of Arnold’s habitual +mode of expression helped to conceal the real earnestness of his purpose. +But in all this he had very much at heart the improvement of his +countrymen. He was by nature and instinct a teacher; and, though he was +too much an artist to obtrude it or let it spoil his work, there was a +didactic purpose under nearly all he wrote, verse as well as prose. For +this he sacrificed popularity. Knowing well that to say what is agreeable +is a surer and easier road to favour than to say what is helpful, he yet +chose the latter course.</p> + +<p>The same purpose animates likewise Arnold’s theological writings; but in +this case the want of special equipment is more serious. It is unwise of +anyone, without long years of special training, to undertake biblical +criticism. The opinion of a great Hebraist as to the facts about the book +of Isaiah is valuable; the opinion of anyone else is that of an amateur. +The motive which animated Arnold however is easily understood, and for +certain purposes his judgment is quite as worthy of respect as that of the +most accomplished theologian. Arnold’s position was peculiar. While +retaining a great deal of religious sentiment he had thrown aside entirely +the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span> positive dogmas of religion. He was strongly attached to the religion +of the Bible, Old Testament as well as New; and just because of this +attachment he wished to remove the crumbling foundation of theological +systems and find a safer basis for it. ‘Our popular religion at present +conceives the birth, ministry, and death of Christ, as altogether steeped +in prodigy, brimful of miracle;—<i>and miracles do not happen</i>.’ Arnold’s +object was to set free Christianity, which had hardened in the mistaken +fact, and to establish it on the living idea. Undoubtedly he was well +qualified to form opinions on these fundamental questions. Neither the +clergy, nor the churches, nor specialists in biblical lore, have any +monopoly here, or any peculiar right to respect. The ultimate questions of +religion are to be settled by a review of the whole of life, for which +every man has his own special advantages as well as his own special +limitations.</p> + +<p>Arnold’s style, in prose as in poetry, is one of the elements of his +power. Though not free from mannerisms, it is easy, harmonious, scholarly +and scrupulously pure. He is content to write about plain things in a +plain manner. His great charm is the constant play of wit and humour, of +irony and satire, over his prose. The wit and irony are, as a rule, +lambent rather than piercing, but they are sometimes exceedingly keen. +Occasionally he rises to a high pitch of eloquence. There are few passages +of English prose more memorable than the celebrated apostrophe to Oxford, +the ‘home of lost causes, and forsaken beliefs, and unpopular names, and +impossible loyalties.’ Yet even there, when his feelings are most highly +strung, the comic touch comes in: ‘There are our young barbarians, all at +play.’ Arnold smiles at himself as he smiles at others, and by doing so +takes all offence from his wit.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Dr. John Brown<br />(1810-1882).<br /> +<br /> +William Brighty Rands<br />(1823-1882).</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span>Two minor names, those of Dr. John Brown and William Brighty Rands, are, +perhaps, best included among the critics. The former is most widely known +as the author of <i>Rab and his Friends</i>, a piece not easily surpassed for +mingled pathos and humour. Brown wrote a style of very high merit. In the +miscellaneous collection of his writings, which he entitled <i>Horæ +Subsecivæ</i>, there is much to remind the reader of Lamb. Yet he was +guiltless of imitation, and the resemblance exists because he had the same +fine humour and the same sensitiveness of perception as the earlier +writer. No one has written better than Brown about dogs; and his +comprehension of them and his power of depicting them are seen even better +in <i>Our Dogs</i> than in the famous essay on Rab, where the human figures +divide the interest with the great mastiff. Brown’s critical papers are +few, but they show that he knew how to get at the heart of his subject.</p> + +<p>Rands is a man much less known than he deserves to be. He wrote on many +subjects, but generally under assumed names. His children’s verse in +<i>Lilliput Levee</i> (1864) is very good, and his opinions on ‘life and +philosophy’ in <i>Henry Holbeach</i> (1865) are still better. This book is +thoughtful, acute in criticism, and enriched with not a few memorable +sayings. Perhaps the best essay in it is that on <i>Cavaliers and +Roundheads</i>, where the description of the Tory or Cavalier mind, with no +opinions, only dogmas, and a genial superstition which answers the purpose +of religion, is admirable; and in another essay there is an even more +delicious description of the minister of the Little Meeting, ‘his heart +amply supplied with the milk of human kindness, and his creed blazing with +damnation.’ Rich as English literature is, it is sensibly impoverished +when work of this quality is forgotten.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span>The present period has been fruitful also in departments of scholarship +cognate to literary criticism. Among scholars in the old sense of the term +the most distinguished were John Conington at Oxford and H. A. J. Munro at +Cambridge. The former had the more versatile literary gift, but the latter +was far more ‘high built’ in learning, and his edition of Lucretius is +admittedly one of the triumphs of English classical culture. In the same +sphere the great statesman, W. E. Gladstone, deserves mention, less +perhaps for the positive value of his <i>Juventus Mundi</i> and Homeric +studies, than for the extraordinary energy which made such work possible +amidst the distractions of party politics. More characteristic of the age +has been the development of Anglo-Saxon and Middle English lore. Benjamin +Thorpe and Joseph Bosworth both did valuable work in this sphere. The +former edited Caedmon in 1832, and in the course of his long life +supervised editions of nearly all the more important remains of +Anglo-Saxon literature. Bosworth’s name is identified with the Anglo-Saxon +Dictionary, which, though now philologically rather antiquated, was in its +time a bold undertaking. Sir Frederick Madden, a somewhat younger man, +performed for a later period the work Thorpe did for the beginning of our +literature. The accomplished Richard Chenevix Trench, for twenty years +Archbishop of Dublin, was not only an agreeable poet, but did great +service to the study of the English language. His <i>Study of Words</i> and +<i>English Past and Present</i> have done more to popularise philology than, +probably, any other books we possess.</p> + +<p>The study of Eastern civilisation has been another special line of modern +research. The explorations of Layard threw a flood of light upon Nineveh, +and, in the still more remote East, Sir Henry Creswicke Rawlinson<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span> +achieved the remarkable feat of deciphering the Persian cuneiform +inscriptions. Curiously enough, the same thing was done independently and +almost simultaneously by Dr. Edward Hincks. Another portion of the East +was studied by E. W. Lane, the greatest English Arabic scholar of his +time, the best translator before Sir Richard Burton of the <i>Arabian +Nights</i>, and author of one of the best books on life in the East, the +<i>Account of the Manners and Customs of the Modern Egyptians</i>.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">George Borrow<br />(1803-1881).</div> + +<p>Among travellers who were not scholars, David Livingstone deserves mention +for the greatness of his African discoveries, and McClintock as the chief +in his time of Arctic explorers. But in the literary sense both were far +surpassed by George Borrow, an author very hard to classify, but whom some +would be disposed, for more reasons than one, to rank among the writers of +fiction. Borrow did write stories, <i>Lavengro</i> (1851), and its sequel, <i>The +Romany Rye</i> (1857), where facts of his own life are bewilderingly mingled +with fiction; while it is strongly suspected that there is no small +element of romance in the books of travel on which his fame chiefly rests. +He had a remarkable gift for languages. Among other little-known tongues, +he studied the Gipsy speech, and published a volume on <i>The Gipsies in +Spain</i> (1841), and a word-book of the English Gipsy dialect. His best book +however is <i>The Bible in Spain</i> (1843), an exceedingly readable account of +his travels as colporteur in that country. Whether it be trustworthy as a +record of facts or not, <i>The Bible in Spain</i> has at least induced some +whose whole interest was in tracts and colportage to read a piece of good +literature, and has delighted with entertaining adventures others who +looked for nothing better than an enlarged specimen of the tract kind.</p> + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X.</h2> +<p class="center"><span class="large">POETRY FROM 1850 TO 1870: THE INTELLECTUAL MOVEMENT.</span></p> + +<p>We have already seen that traces of change in the spirit of poetry +manifest themselves soon after the opening of the present period. They +appear in the works of men like Bailey and Sir Henry Taylor, and they grow +steadily stronger in the successive volumes of Tennyson. We have also seen +that a spirit cognate to this manifests itself in other departments of +literature as well. It attains its full growth, especially in poetry and +art, about the middle of the century; and so marked is the difference from +the previous four-and-twenty years that it has been called the English +Renaissance. The name is too ambitious and grandiloquent, yet if we do not +press it unduly it will be useful in reminding us that literature had in +nearly all departments come to be dominated by new ideals. Nowhere do we +see them more conspicuous than in poetry. Their influence is visible in +the rise of new schools; first, the ‘Spasmodic School,’ stronger in +passion than in intellect, and greater in promise than in performance; and +secondly, the Pre-Raphaelites, who were primarily artists, but who were +also men of letters. The first article of their creed was to be true to +nature; but they were far from being realists as the word is now commonly +understood. More important than either of these were those whose task<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span> may +be described as that of wedding intellect to imagination. They were not a +new school, for their leaders, Browning and Tennyson, had been active all +through the first part of the period. But their power and their influence +had now grown to maturity; both in their choice of subject and in their +treatment they were swayed by the spirit of the time; and they were +reinforced by some new writers who took a similar view of the functions of +poetry.</p> + +<p>The greatest of these new writers is Matthew Arnold, and his thought is so +eminently representative of the generation that it may be well to consider +him even before his seniors. It was as a poet that Arnold began his +literary career. He won prizes for poetry at Rugby and at Oxford, and in +1849 he published his first volume, <i>The Strayed Reveller, and Other +Poems</i>. <i>Empedocles on Etna</i>, also accompanied by other poems, followed in +1852, and another volume of poems the year after. A few additions to the +pieces thus published were gradually made, and in 1867 appeared the <i>New +Poems</i>. From that date Arnold wrote poetry sparingly. His career was +therefore comparatively short, and the bulk of his verse is not great. He +was frozen into silence by ‘that dull indifference to his gifts and +services which stirred the fruitless indignation of his friends.’ But in +poetry quality counts for more than quantity. Small in bulk as is his +contribution, Gray has nevertheless a secure place among the immortals. +Arnold’s contribution is much larger than Gray’s, and it has the same +purity and beauty of finish.</p> + +<p>Arnold was born just at the proper time to feel the forces of change +working around him, and the sense of change is from the first deeply +impressed upon his poetry. It is this, combined with his critical attitude +of mind, that makes him specially the voice of the doubts and difficulties +of his generation. The critical aspect of Arnold’s verse has<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span> been already +noted. It is critical of human existence as well as of other poetry. In +<i>Obermann Once More</i>, in <i>Thyrsis</i>, in <i>The Scholar Gipsy</i>, in +<i>Mycerinus</i>, in <i>Resignation</i>, in the lines <i>To a Gipsy Child</i>, and in +numerous other pieces we see the workings of this critical spirit. We see +too that he is most of all weighed down with the profound sense of change. +He finds himself in a world where all things have to be made new, and +where the power that promised to renew them remains unseen. This is the +case with religion, for the conviction of the decay of Christianity in the +dogmatic sense is as plainly visible in Arnold’s verse as in his prose. It +is the case also with politics and the social system. The French +Revolution had shaken these, and had left to the next generation the task +of rebuilding them. Its tremendous magnitude awes Arnold. He has none of +that confident optimism which in Browning springs from breadth of +intellect; still less does he share that which, in the panegyrists of +material progress, is begotten of narrowness. He thinks the conditions of +the time unfavourable to spiritual growth. It does not afford that +‘shelter to grow ripe,’ and that ‘leisure to grow wise,’ which even Goethe +found in his youth, exposed though he was in maturer years to ‘the blasts +of a tremendous time.’</p> + +<p>This conception of the conflict, and especially of the unparalleled +complexity, of modern life, is the dominant thought of Arnold. It is the +warfare of so many elements that in his eyes distinguishes his own from +all previous ages. In former times each civilisation stood by itself, not +vitally affected by the puzzling elements of alien civilisations. The +modern task is to fuse all together. The actress Rachel is typical, and as +in her birth, and life, and death, and in her physical, mental and moral +nature, there met and clashed ‘Germany, France, Christ, Moses, Athens, +Rome,’—so do they meet and clash in the lives of all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span> Arnold offers no +solution of the problem. He points out the difficulty, he cherishes an +ultimate hopefulness, but none of the answers to the riddle satisfies him.</p> + +<p>The tone most characteristic of Arnold is in harmony with such fundamental +conceptions. It is a tone of refined and thoughtful melancholy. This made +him a supreme elegiac poet. <i>Thyrsis</i>, the memorial poem on his friend +Clough, is generally ranked with the masterpieces in the same type of +Tennyson and Shelley and Milton. But <i>Thyrsis</i> does not stand alone. <i>The +Scholar Gipsy</i>, the <i>Obermann</i> poems, <i>Rugby Chapel</i>, <i>A Southern Night</i>, +and several others of Arnold’s finest pieces likewise belong to this +class. The elegiac spirit is his special gift, and he shows it in a +characteristic way. His poems are not elegiacs for the individual; they +are not so even when, as in <i>Rugby Chapel</i> and <i>A Southern Night</i>, the +subjects are most intimately related in blood to Arnold. He habitually +looks beyond the individual to the race, and rather mourns ‘the something +that infects the world.’</p> + +<p>Arnold was a student of Wordsworth, and was among the most discriminating +admirers of that great poet. One of the best of the critical essays is +devoted to him; and the finest selection ever made from the poetry of +Wordsworth was made by Arnold. The skill of that selection proves that +Arnold was capable of benefiting from Wordsworth without being tempted to +follow him where his guidance would have been dangerous. He admired +Wordsworth’s calm, he admired him for his power to ‘possess his soul,’ he +admired him as a student of nature. The calm and rest in himself were with +Arnold rather an aspiration than a thing attained: it was part of his +creed that in these latter days such calm was unattainable. But he +followed Wordsworth as a student of nature. The love of nature was with +Arnold an inborn passion, the strength<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span> of which is proved not only by his +poetry, but in one sense even more convincingly by his familiar letters. +Wordsworth gave him a point of view and strengthened his power of vision. +But Arnold writes his nature-poetry for a new age under new conditions. +The very fact that the calm of Wordsworth is unattainable imparts to his +verse a subdued tone. He stands between Wordsworth and his other favourite +Senancour, sharing the spiritual force of the one and the reflective +melancholy of the other. Arnold’s best descriptions are tinged with this +melancholy. The ‘infinite desire of all which might have been’ inspires +<i>Resignation</i>, one of the poems of his earliest volume. We see it again in +the lovely closing lines of <i>The Church of Brou</i>. It determines Arnold’s +preference for pale colours, soft lights and subdued sounds, for moonlight +effects, and for the hum of ‘brooding mountain bee.’ In the beautiful +<i>Dover Beach</i> it is associated with his sense of the decay of faith. Even +in the lyric rapture of the description of the sea-caverns in <i>The +Forsaken Merman</i>, the melancholy is still present. To many it is +oppressive, and perhaps it is the absence of it from the song of Callicles +in <i>Empedocles on Etna</i> that has caused some sympathetic critics to +pronounce that the finest of all Arnold’s poems.</p> + +<p>Arnold’s longer pieces fall into two classes: the dramatic, including +<i>Merope</i> and <i>Empedocles on Etna</i>; and the narrative, best represented by +<i>Sohrab and Rustum</i> and <i>Balder Dead</i>, for <i>Tristram and Iseult</i> is as +much lyrical as narrative. As a dramatist Arnold was not successful. His +<i>Merope</i>, a play on the Greek model, is frigid; and fine as is <i>Empedocles +on Etna</i>, its merits are in the thought and the beautiful verse rather +than the dramatic structure. The truth is that Arnold had neither the eye +for fine shades of character nor the interest in action essential to the +drama. His treatment of character has already been commented<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span> upon in +connexion with his prose. With regard to action, Arnold himself withdrew +<i>Empedocles on Etna</i> shortly after its publication, on the ground that it +was a poem in which all was to be endured and nothing to be done.</p> + +<p>The same want of action appears in the narratives. The charm of these +beautiful poems resides not in what takes place in them, but in the +restful pictures they present. There is no breathless speed such as we +feel in the narratives of Scott and Byron, but, on the contrary, the calm +of a reflective spirit. <i>Sohrab and Rustum</i> (1853) and <i>Balder Dead</i> +(1855) seemed to open out to Arnold a wider field of productiveness than +any he had hitherto found. They took him outside himself, and gave variety +to his poetry; and perhaps the thing most to be regretted in his literary +history is that he wrote no more pieces of this class. Not that they are +altogether the best of his poems; but blank verse so beautiful as his +never cloys, and it seemed as if he might have found innumerable subjects +suitable to his genius, subjects inviting quiet reflexion and not injured +by the absence of rapid movement.</p> + +<p>There are two features of special value in the work of Arnold. One is his +unshrinking intellectual sincerity. The bent of his mind compelled him to +endeavour to understand the world in which he lived. He found much in it +that was unwelcome to him. His scepticism as to dogmatic religion was a +source of great pain to himself. Life would have been far more smooth and +easy if he had been able to believe more; and hence that sympathy with +many things he did <i>not</i> believe which Newman noted in him. Yet he never +shows the slightest sign of yielding to the temptation and playing false +with his intellect. Wherever it leads him Arnold goes; and he has taught +no higher lesson than that of unvarying trust in reason and loyalty to +‘the high white star of truth.’ It may be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span> doubted whether any of his +poetic contemporaries has pursued a path so undeviatingly straight. Even +Browning is bribed by his feelings to play questionable tricks with his +intellect.</p> + +<p>The second feature is the style of Arnold. He presents one of the best +examples in English of the classical spirit. He is always measured and +restrained. He detested ‘haste, half-work, and disarray,’ and certainly +his own example tended to discourage them. Lucidity and flexibility and +sanity were the qualities he specially strove to embody in his work. It +was because he found them in Goethe that he specially admired the great +German poet. It was because of the absence of them that he uttered his +most severe criticisms upon his countrymen both in the present and in the +past.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Arthur Hugh Clough<br />(1819-1861).</div> + +<p>Arthur Hugh Clough is in so many respects associated with Arnold that they +are best taken together. But just because of the similarities there is the +less need to dwell upon the inferior poet. Clough, who spent his early +boyhood in America, was educated under Dr. Arnold at Rugby and at Balliol +College, Oxford. At Oxford he was for a time carried away by the +Tractarian movement, in his own words, ‘like a straw drawn up the chimney +by a draught.’ In this he was influenced doubtless by his friendship for +W. G. Ward. But Clough was not born for unquestioning belief, and the +reaction shook his whole faith. The story of his separation from Ward is +told in the beautiful allegorical poem, <i>Qua Cursum Ventus</i>; and in +another of his finest poems, <i>Easter Day, Naples</i>, 1849, we see the +position to which Clough ultimately came. To use Arnold’s distinction, it +is a faith which gives up the fact, but clings to the idea. Had Clough +written much in the strain of these pieces he might have had some title to +the name of a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span> great poet. But he is seldom wholly satisfactory. He was +prone to choose themes beyond his strength. Thus <i>Dipsychus</i> is a +colourless and weak reproduction of <i>Faust</i>. The author has not sufficient +force to deal with the battlings of a spirit with faith and doubt, +pleasure and virtue, good and evil, and all the most complex problems of +life. Defects fundamentally the same take a different shape in <i>Amours de +Voyage</i>. Clough’s presentation, in Claude, of the doubts, distrust and +dilettantism of the century fails to give the sense of power. The poet is +happier in his ‘long vacation pastoral,’ the <i>Bothie of Tober-na-Vuolich</i> +(1848), with its glimpses of nature, its easy light touch, and its +underlying seriousness. But the verse is unfortunate. The hexameter in +English is an exotic, and has never yet been used in any long poem with +complete success. The reader tires at last of what might otherwise have +been a most successful story in verse.</p> + +<p>The same movement visible in the poetry of Arnold and Clough may be +detected still moulding and modifying the works of Tennyson. In the year +1850 <i>In Memoriam</i> appeared. It was the product of long meditation, and +part is known to have been written as early as 1833. Nevertheless it is +remarkable that just in the year when Browning published his <i>Christmas +Eve and Easter Day</i>, and just about the time when Arnold’s verse was +exhibiting another aspect of the interest in religion, Tennyson too should +have made his greatest contribution in this kind to literature. For while +<i>In Memoriam</i> is of all great English elegies the most closely associated +with the man to whom it is dedicated, still the treatment opens up the +questions of death and immortality; and the passages of the poem which +have clung to the popular memory are those in which the poet expresses his +convictions or his hopes on these subjects. Perhaps the greatest weakness +of <i>In<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span> Memoriam</i> is its length. It is difficult if not impossible to +dwell on the subject of death long, and to preserve perfect healthiness of +tone. The other great English elegies are in the first place much shorter, +and in the second place the writers find more relief to them than Tennyson +does. The intensity of his friendship for Arthur Hallam kept him perhaps +even too strictly to his subject.</p> + +<p><i>In Memoriam</i> is essentially a lyrical poem, and the years immediately +before and after its publication are those in which Tennyson’s lyrical +genius was in fullest flower. <i>Maud</i> (1855) is a lyrical poem. The +beautiful songs interspersed between the parts of <i>The Princess</i> belong to +this period, and so does the grand <i>Ode on the Death of the Duke of +Wellington</i>. The lyrics of these years are on the whole superior both in +fervour of passion and in weight of thought to the earlier lyrics. Some of +the songs, like ‘Tears, idle tears,’ are, as songs, almost overcharged +with thought, yet they are beautifully melodious; and Tennyson never wrote +anything more full of exquisite sound than ‘The splendour falls on castle +walls.’</p> + +<p>The <i>Ode on the Death of Wellington</i> is worthy of study, because it is the +best specimen of a class of poems for which Tennyson was distinguished +from first to last. He was always a patriot, and there is no feeling he +expresses more fervently than that of pride in England. He contrasts her +stability with the fickleness of France. He is proud of her freedom slowly +won and surely kept. Patriotic ballads like <i>The Revenge</i> and <i>The Defence +of Lucknow</i> are among the most prominent characteristics of his later +volumes. His great success in the case of the <i>Ode</i> is due to the fact, +first that his heart is stirred by the sense that ‘the last great +Englishman is low;’ and secondly, to the fact that he saw in Wellington an +impersonation of all that he had admired in England. The picture he draws +of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span> duke is identical in its great features with that he had painted +of the nation, and it has the advantage of being concrete.</p> + +<p>The passionate fervour of which Tennyson’s lyric strain was capable is +best illustrated from <i>Maud</i>, a poem which it is more easy to praise in +parts than as a whole; for it must be admitted that the character of the +hero is deficient in greatness and self-restraint; and the part which +depicts his madness is poor. A good deal of at best exaggerated blame has +likewise been meted out to the references to war in the course of the +poem. But these faults are more than redeemed by such lyric outbursts as +‘Come into the garden, Maud,’ and ‘O that ’twere possible.’ The first is +perhaps the most splendid, as it is one of the most justly popular, of all +Tennyson’s lyrics; while the second is among the most exquisite and +delicately finished. These pieces have a deeper tone of feeling and more +reality of passion than we find in Tennyson’s earlier lyrics.</p> + +<p>The <i>Idylls of the King</i> are the outcome of an interest in Arthurian +legends that seems to have gradually developed. <i>The Lady of Shalott</i> +proves that Tennyson’s mind was dallying with the story of Arthur as early +as 1833; and <i>Sir Galahad</i> and <i>Sir Launcelot and Queen Guinevere</i> attest +the continuance of the interest in the volumes of 1842. Another piece, the +<i>Morte d’Arthur</i>, published along with these, was afterwards embodied in +the <i>Idylls</i>. It was professedly a fragment, and the epic of which it was +described as the sole relic was spoken of disparagingly as ‘faint Homeric +echoes, nothing-worth.’ Notwithstanding the disparagement, <i>The Passing of +Arthur</i> is the gem of the <i>Idylls</i>; but the reference serves at least to +direct attention to an actual difference between Tennyson’s earlier and +later work. Though the <i>Morte d’Arthur</i> is far from being a mere echo of +Homer, there are numerous lines and phrases<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span> in it directly recalling +Homer, and different in tone from the context. In the later <i>Idylls</i> the +classical allusions seem to be one with the piece, they do not call +attention to themselves but are transformed and made Tennyson’s own.</p> + +<p>There is no clear evidence before 1859 of an intention to treat the +Arthurian story as a whole. In that year four of the idylls were +published; but they were still fragments, and great gaps were left +between. Gradually the gaps were filled, until in 1885 the poem was +completed. Still, the connexion of the parts is loose. Each idyll is a +separate story, related to the others because all are parts of one greater +story. But the idylls have not the coherence required in the books of an +epic. Tennyson was conscious of the want of unity, and he sought for a +principle of connexion in allegory. At best the allegory is very +indistinct; it appears chiefly in the parts later in order of publication; +and we may suspect that it was an after-thought meant to supply a defect +to which the author slowly awakened. The very name, <i>Idylls of the King</i>, +serves as a warning not to expect too much unity. An ‘idyll’ is a short +story, and the word therefore indicates the essentially episodic character +of the whole poem.</p> + +<p>The <i>Idylls</i> were, as they still are, Tennyson’s greatest experiment in +blank verse; and next to Milton’s <i>Paradise Lost</i> they are the finest body +of non-dramatic blank verse in the language. The form had gone out of +fashion in the eighteenth century. Thomson, it is true, revived it, and +the poets of the period of the Revolution followed his example. But +through the early death of Keats, through that feebleness of will which +robbed the world of an untold wealth of poetry in Coleridge, and through +the fate that forbade Wordsworth to write long poems well, it remained +true that no very great and sustained modern English poem<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span> was written in +blank verse. The measure attracted Tennyson, and he soon mastered it. A +number of pieces prior to the <i>Idylls</i> seem to be experiments in +preparation for a bolder flight. The <i>English Idylls</i>, <i>Ulysses</i>, +<i>Aylmer’s Field</i>, <i>Sea Dreams</i> and <i>Lucretius</i> are specimens. The measure +is used on a larger scale in <i>The Princess</i>. But Tennyson’s supreme +success was in the <i>Idylls of the King</i>. They cannot be said to rise +higher than the best of the early poems; for the <i>English Idylls</i> include +the <i>Morte d’Arthur</i>, and <i>Ulysses</i> is among the finest of Tennyson’s +poems. These pieces show the same exquisite grace, the same smoothness, +the same variety of pause, the same skill in the use of adjuncts, such as +alliteration. But there is necessarily more scope and variety in a long +poem; and one of the finest features of Tennyson’s verse is the +flexibility with which it adapts itself to the soft idyllic tone +appropriate to <i>Enid</i>, to the darkness of moral degradation in <i>The Last +Tournament</i>, to the crisis of the parting of Arthur and Guinevere, to the +spiritual rapture of <i>The Holy Grail</i>, and to the mysticism of <i>The +Passing of Arthur</i>. Tennyson cannot equal the stateliness of Milton; but +Milton is the only poet with whom, in respect of blank verse, he need +greatly fear comparison.</p> + +<p>When we come down to later years the principal change visible in +Tennyson’s work is the development of the dramatic element. The dramas +proper have been the most neglected of all sections of his work; but ‘the +dramatic element’ is by no means confined to them. They are rather just +the final result of a process which had been long going on. Tennyson, as +we have already seen, gradually put more and more thought into his verse. +In doing so he felt the need of a closer grip of reality, and he found, as +other poets have found too, that the dramatic mode of conception brought +him closest to the real. This<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span> is all the more remarkable because nothing +could well be more foreign to the dramatic spirit than his early work. His +youthful character sketches are not in the least dramatic. Neither is +there much trace of humour, a quality without which true dramatic +conception is impossible. The change begins to show itself about the +middle of the century. In <i>The Grandmother</i> and <i>The Northern Farmer</i> we +have genuine dramatic sketches of character. The poet does not regard them +from his own point of view, he speaks from theirs. <i>The Northern Farmer</i> +is moreover rich in humour. Tennyson never surpassed this creation, but he +multiplied similar sketches. All his poems in dialect are of a like kind. +They are in dialect not from mere caprice, but because the characters +could only be painted to the life by using their own speech. Other pieces, +not in dialect, like <i>Sir John Oldcastle</i> and <i>Columbus</i>, are likewise +dramatic in their nature. Less prominent, but not less genuine, is the +dramatic element in the patriotic ballads, such as <i>The Revenge</i>. The +greater part of the work of Tennyson’s last twenty years is, in fact, of +this nature, and herein we detect the principal cause of the change of +which all must be sensible in that work as compared with the work of his +youth. The old smoothness and melody are in great part gone, but a number +of pieces prove that Tennyson retained the skill though he did not always +choose to exercise it. It is the early style with which his name is still +associated, and probably the majority of his readers have never been quite +reconciled to the change. But while we may legitimately mourn for what +time took away, we ought to rejoice over what it added, rather than left. +If there is less melody there is more strength; if the delightful dreamy +languor of <i>The Lotos-Eaters</i> is gone, we have the vivid truth of <i>The +Northern Farmer</i> and <i>The Northern Cobbler</i>, and the tragic<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span> pathos of +<i>Rizpah</i>; if the romantic sentiment of <i>Locksley Hall</i> is lost, something +more valuable has taken its place in the criticism of life in <i>Locksley +Hall Sixty Years After</i>.</p> + +<p>Tennyson’s dramas then, surprising as they were when they first appeared, +are merely the legitimate and almost the inevitable outcome of his course +of development. Inevitable he seems to have felt them, for he persevered +in the face of censure or half-hearted approval, perhaps it should be +said, in the face of failure. A deep-rooted scepticism of his dramatic +powers has stood in the way of a fair appreciation. The fame of his +earlier poetry has cast a shadow over these later fruits of his genius; +and the question, ‘Is Saul also among the prophets?’ was hardly asked with +greater surprise than the question whether Tennyson could possibly be a +dramatist. And, in truth, at sixty-six he had still to learn the rudiments +of his business. <i>Queen Mary</i> (1875) is a failure. It is not a great poem, +and still less is it a great drama. The stage is overcrowded with +<i>dramatis personæ</i> who jostle each other and hide one another’s features. +<i>Harold</i> (1876) showed a marked advance; but <i>Becket</i> (1884) was the +triumph which justified all the other experiments. It is a truly great +drama, and, though not yet recognised as such, will probably rank finally +among the greatest of Tennyson’s works. The characters are firmly and +clearly delineated. Becket and Henry, closely akin in some of their +natural gifts, are different in circumstances and develop into very +different men. Rosamond and Eleanor are widely contrasted types of female +character, the former a little commonplace, the latter a subtle conception +excellently worked out. All the materials out of which the play is built +are great. No finer theme could be found than the mediæval conflict +between Church and State; and Tennyson has seized it in the true dramatic +way, as concentrated in the single soul of Becket, torn between his duty<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span> +to the Church and his duty to the King, whose Chancellor and trusted +friend he had been and to whom he owed his promotion.</p> + +<p>The minor dramatic pieces are of inferior worth, and in some of them, as +for example, <i>The Promise of May</i> and <i>The Falcon</i>, Tennyson showed a +certain infelicity in his choice of subjects. But their failure leaves +unimpaired the interest of the dramatic period. It seemed an almost wanton +experiment on the part of Tennyson. But he was an artist all his life, and +here too he was only obeying the inherent law of development of his art. +Instead of wantonness, there is deep pathos in the old man’s perseverance +under unfamiliar conditions, and there can only be joy at his final +success. There is surprise too that he who, from his earlier work, would +have been judged one of the least dramatic of poets, should have so +decidedly surpassed a poet so markedly dramatic as Browning.</p> + +<p>Tennyson wrote up to the very close of his long life. His last +publications were <i>The Foresters</i> and <i>The Death of Œnone</i>. They show +some decline of power. <i>Demeter</i> too (1889) was probably a little below +his level. But previous to that, though there had been change, there had +been nothing that can be called decay. For the long period of sixty years +and upwards Tennyson had written, and with rare exceptions he had written +greatly. From the death of Wordsworth to his own death he was almost +universally looked upon as the first poet of his time. No one else has +wielded so great an influence. In no other poet’s work is the record of +change during the period so clearly written. In part he made the age, in +still larger measure it made him. The hesitancy of his early work was +typical of the spirit of the time. The gradual awakening, the deeper +thought, the larger subjects, the more varied interests of the +intermediate period, were<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span> typical too. In this last period, while +Tennyson was as faithful as ever to the law of his own development, he did +not move precisely with the time. Another race was rising and other palms +were to be won.</p> + +<p>Browning could not go through the same phase of development, for in him +the intellectual element from the first was even abnormally prominent. Yet +in Browning too the influence of the time is felt. <i>Christmas Eve and +Easter Day</i> (1850) handles topics to which he is perpetually recurring; +but in it they are seen in a new light. The poet had heard the noise of +the Tractarian controversy, and in <i>Christmas Eve</i> he passes in review the +three principal phases of contemporary opinion regarding religion,—the +evangelical, represented by the Nonconformist Chapel, the Catholic, +represented by Rome, and the critical, represented by the German professor +in his lecture-room. It is significant that while Browning can accept +neither of the two former, he prefers both to the third. Both are +intellectually indefensible, yet in both the vital thing, love, is +present, while it is not to be found in the lecture-room. Both ‘poison the +air for healthy breathing,’ but the critic ‘leaves no air to poison.’ +There is throughout the poem an unquestionable bias towards finding as +much true as will by any means pass muster with the intellect. Long +afterwards, in <i>La Saisiaz</i> (1878), Browning handled the same problems in +a more boldly speculative spirit, though still with the same bias. The +difference is largely due to time; for before the date of <i>La Saisiaz</i> +Browning had adopted a method more philosophical than artistic. But +partly, perhaps, it was due to his wife, who was alive when <i>Christmas +Eve</i> was written, and dead long before <i>La Saisiaz</i>.</p> + +<p>In the period between these two poems the same problems were frequently in +Browning’s mind, and no section of his work is richer in thought and +poetic beauty than that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span> which expresses them. In <i>Karshish</i>, with its +vivid realisation of the mind of a thoughtful heathen longing for a faith, +in <i>A Death in the Desert</i>, where the St. John is rather a man of the age +of Strauss than of the first century, in <i>The Pope</i> and in <i>Rabbi Ben +Ezra</i>, we have Browning’s deepest treatment of the problems which +interested him most, and we have not that sacrifice of poetry to +philosophy which mars <i>La Saisiaz</i>. We may say that about this time +Browning discovered the vital interest of his generation, and discovered +also where his own strength lay. The effect is seen in the uniform +excellence of his work. The publications of the twenty years between 1850 +and 1870, taken as a whole, certainly surpass what he had done before or +what he did afterwards. <i>Men and Women</i> (1855) has been probably the most +popular and the most widely read of all his writings; <i>Dramatis Personæ</i> +(1864) is even richer in poetry, but has been commonly felt to be more +difficult in thought; while <i>The Ring and the Book</i> (1868-1869) is by +almost all competent judges pronounced his masterpiece.</p> + +<p>The plan of The <i>Ring and the Book</i>, whereby the same story is told ten +times over from ten different points of view, is defensible only on the +ground that it succeeds. Nearly half the poem is hardly worth reading; yet +the other half so splendidly redeems it that <i>The Ring and the Book</i> ranks +among the great poems of modern times. The pictures of Caponsacchi, of +Guido, of Pompilia and of the Pope are all great. Guido has the interest, +unique in this poem, of appearing twice; and there is no better +illustration of the subtlety of Browning’s thought than the difference +between the Count, plausible, supple and polished, pleading for his life, +and the man Guido, stripped of all but bare humanity, condemned to death, +first desperately petitioning, then tearing off the veil of hypocrisy and +uttering his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span> terrible truths both about himself and the messengers who +bear his sentence. Pompilia is Browning’s most perfect female character; +but, though a beautiful creation, she illustrates one of the defects in +his dramatic art. She speaks Browning’s speech, and she thinks his +thought. Simple child as she is, there is a depth of philosophy in her +utterances that is not in strict keeping with her character; and she, like +all Browning’s men and women, uses the abrupt vivid language of the poet. +Notwithstanding his almost passionate repudiation of the idea, Browning is +a self-revealing poet; and nowhere does he reveal himself more than in the +Pope, the greatest character in <i>The Ring and the Book</i>. In him the +resemblance to Browning himself does not matter, it rather adds a new +interest. The mind can conceive and picture nothing higher than its own +ideal best; and the Pope is Browning’s ideal man, great in intellect, in +morals and in faith. In two other cases, <i>Rabbi Ben Ezra</i> and <i>A Death in +the Desert</i>, Browning has given similar glimpses of his own ideal, but +they are less full than the view we get in <i>The Pope</i>.</p> + +<p>To Browning’s middle period belong likewise many of his love-poems, and +these are unique in the English language. Others, like Shakespeare and +Burns and Shelley, have given a more purely captivating expression to the +ardour of love; no one else has so worked out its philosophy. Not that +Browning’s poems are deficient in feeling; the expressions of his own love +for his wife, ‘O lyric love’ and <i>One Word More</i>, would suffice to refute +such a criticism. But he prefers to take an aspect of passion and to +explain it by the way of thought. He is analytical. The best example is +<i>James Lee’s Wife</i>, which goes through a whole drama of passion, and might +be described, like Tennyson’s <i>Maud</i>, as ‘a lyrical mono-drama.’ This, for +good or evil, is another method from that of ‘Take, oh take those lips<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span> +away,’ or ‘I arise from dreams of thee,’ or ‘Of a’ the airts.’ There is +both gain and loss in Browning’s way of treatment. On the one hand, the +lyric strain is less pure. If poetry ought to be ‘simple, sensuous and +impassioned,’ and it has been generally thought that lyric poetry in +particular should be so, then is Browning’s less in harmony with the +ideal. On the other hand, because his is a new way Browning impresses the +reader with his originality; and because it is a thoughtful way he has a +wide range. Moreover, it is a purifying and ennobling way. No poet free, +as Browning is, from the taint of asceticism has ever treated the passion +of love in a manner so little physical as he. There are in his works +errors of taste that cause a shudder; but they are not here.</p> + +<p>It was likewise during this period that Browning was at his dramatic best. +Nearly all his best pieces are dramatic in conception, though sometimes, +as in the love-poems, we are confined to single aspects of character. Not +to speak of the great figures of <i>The Ring and the Book</i>, there is ample +variety in <i>Men and Women</i> and in <i>Dramatis Personæ</i>. There are few +figures more clearly drawn or more easily remembered than <i>Andrea del +Sarto</i>; and <i>My Last Duchess</i> is equally fine. In these two pieces +Browning has succeeded better than elsewhere in keeping himself in the +background. <i>Fra Lippo Lippi</i> has likewise the stamp of dramatic truth, +and is rich in humour; and <i>Bishop Blougram</i> is at once an excellent +character, and, though a satirical conception, the mouthpiece of some +serious thought.</p> + +<p>In the last twenty years of his life Browning, on the whole, appears at +his worst. We have seen how the development of Tennyson, though not +unattended with loss, carried with it much compensating gain. There are +some indications that Tennyson felt the influence of his great +contemporary. The metrical effects of his later poems, as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span> well as the +studies of character, are sometimes suggestive of Browning. It would have +been well if Browning had in turn borrowed a few hints from Tennyson; but +unfortunately he went steadily along his own course, bringing into ever +greater prominence characteristics that rather needed repression. He +should have nourished the artistic rather than the intellectual element. +Instead, the former dwindled and the latter grew; and some of his later +writings may be not unfairly described as merely treatises in verse. Such +is <i>Fifine at the Fair</i> (1872); such is <i>La Saisiaz</i> (1878); such are many +parts of <i>Ferishtah’s Fancies</i> (1884), and of the <i>Parleyings with Certain +People of Importance</i> (1887). Such too is <i>Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau</i> +(1871); for there the dramatic conception of Louis Napoleon is smothered +beneath the arguments of the Saviour of Society. In all of these the +philosophy overloads the poetry, a state of matters all the less +satisfactory because the philosophy itself is not so sound as that of the +earlier periods.</p> + +<p>There is nevertheless some fine work belonging to this late period. The +translations from the Greek are interesting; but their value is outweighed +by that of the beautiful romance of <i>Balaustion</i>, in which they are set, +and by the discussion of the principles of art in <i>Aristophanes’ Apology</i> +(1875). Still better is <i>The Inn Album</i> (1875), remarkable for the +magnificent character of the heroine, and for some of the most powerful +reasoning to be found in Browning’s works. His last volume, <i>Asolando</i> +(1889), will always have a special interest for its publication +coincidently with his death; and it illustrates how his favourite ideas +remained fixed to the end. There is nothing more characteristic of him +than the thought that evil is necessary to the evolution of good. We can +trace this all through his work. It is present in <i>Sordello</i>, where<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span> we +find evil described as ‘the scheme by which, through ignorance, good +labours to exist;’ and the poet even modifies the prayer, ‘Lead us not +into temptation,’ because, if we are strong enough to overcome it, the +temptation will only do us good. It is indeed Bishop Blougram whom he +causes to speak of ‘the blessed evil;’ but Browning could consistently +have used the phrase himself. Nowhere is this doctrine, at first so +strange, yet so suggestive, more fully and clearly expressed than in the +poem <i>Rephan</i> in <i>Asolando</i>. Earth is superior to Rephan just because evil +blended with good is better than ‘a neutral best,’ and it is progress to +move from the sphere where wrong is impossible to one where through the +risk of evil, and often through evil itself, a higher good may be +attained.</p> + +<p>Browning’s last word to the world, the epilogue to <i>Asolando</i>, is most +distinctive of his style and tone of thought. He held throughout a steady +optimism, all the more cheering because it is the optimism of a man of +wide knowledge of the world, and one who has looked evil in the face. The +note is never clearer than in the epilogue, where he describes himself as</p> + +<p class="poem"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">‘One who never turned his back but marched breast forward,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Never doubted clouds would break,</span><br /> +Never dreamed, though right were worsted, wrong would triumph,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Held we fall to rise, are baffled to fight better,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Sleep to wake.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">‘No, at noonday in the bustle of man’s work-time</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Greet the unseen with a cheer!</span><br /> +Bid him forward, breast and back as either should be,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Strive and thrive! Cry, “Speed,—fight on, fare ever</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">There as here.”’</span></p> + +<div class="sidenote">Elizabeth Barrett Browning<br />(1806-1861).</div> + +<p>Elizabeth Barrett Browning was an author at an earlier date than her +husband. As early as 1826 she published a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span> poetical <i>Essay on Mind</i>, along +with other pieces; but her first work of any note was <i>The Seraphim</i> +(1838). Her introduction to Browning took place in 1846. She was prepared +to admire him, for she already admired his work, and had expressed her +opinion of it in <i>Lady Geraldine’s Courtship</i>. An accident in girlhood had +made her a confirmed invalid; but in spite of this the two poets fell in +love, and were married in the autumn of the year when they first met. They +left England and settled at Florence for the sake of Mrs. Browning’s +health; and there, in 1861, she died.</p> + +<p>There are two points of special and peculiar interest in connexion with +Mrs. Browning. She has only one possible rival, Christina Rossetti, for +the honour of being the greatest poetess who has written in English; and +her marriage with Browning formed a union without parallel in literature. +Moreover, in relation to Mrs. Browning’s works, sex is not a mere +accident. She is a woman in all her modes of thought and feeling, and she +is so especially in her very finest work. Her greatest contribution to +literature, <i>Sonnets from the Portuguese</i>, derives its unique interest +from being the expression of the woman’s love; and <i>A Child’s Grave at +Florence</i> could hardly have been written but by a woman and a mother.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Browning’s influence upon her husband was remarkably slight; his +influence upon her was of mixed effect, but good predominated. The +questionable element is seen when we compare <i>The Seraphim</i> with poems +like <i>Casa Guidi Windows</i> (1851) and <i>Aurora Leigh</i> (1857). <i>The +Seraphim</i>, a lyrical drama, though immature, is of high promise. It is, +above all, right in tone and method; for the writer, Mrs. Browning, was +not really a thinker; woman-like, she felt first, and the attempt to +translate her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span> feeling into thought was an error. She was by nature prone +to this error, and Browning strengthened her innate ambition. But she +never succeeds where thought is suffered to predominate. <i>Casa Guidi +Windows</i> is sadly wanting in force and concentration; and the ambitious +metrical romance of <i>Aurora Leigh</i> would be much improved by being +compressed within half its bulk. It is moreover always the thought, the +social discussions, the parts meant to be especially profound, that are +wrong; the poetic feeling is sound and just, and its expression is often +excellent. Minor influences of Browning may be traced in his wife’s rhymes +and rhythms; but while his effects, though often grotesque and uncouth, +are striking and memorable, hers are feeble and commonplace.</p> + +<p>But if Browning inspired his wife with a false ideal, he, on the other +hand, lifted the shadow from her life, and gave her courage and hope, and +the measure of health without which her work could not have been +accomplished. Her best poems are related to him directly, like the +<i>Sonnets from the Portuguese</i>, or indirectly, like <i>A Child’s Grave at +Florence</i>; for there her own child is an influence.</p> + +<p>Beyond question, the <i>Sonnets from the Portuguese</i> (1850) are Mrs. +Browning’s most valuable contribution to literature. They are valuable +even beyond their intrinsic merits. Good as they are, these sonnets have +neither massiveness and subtlety of thought on the one hand, nor melody +and charm on the other, sufficient to secure a place beside the greatest +poetry. But they are the genuine utterance of a woman’s heart, at once +humbled and exalted by love; and in this respect they are unique. The +woman’s passion, from the woman’s point of view, has seldom found +expression at all in literature, and this particular aspect of it never. +Hence, while it would be absurd to say that these sonnets are, as pieces +of poetry, equal to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span> sonnets of Wordsworth or of Milton, it is not so +unreasonable to question whether their removal would not leave a more +irreparable gap in literature.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Browning is on the whole happiest as a sonnet-writer. The sonnet form +restrained that tendency to diffuseness which was her besetting sin, and +so the fetters proved, as they so often do, to be the means whereby she +moved more freely. Her purpose however frequently required the use of +other forms. Thus, she sometimes aimed at romantic effects. She did so +with no great success in <i>Lady Geraldine’s Courtship</i>, a kind of <i>Lord of +Burleigh</i> from the other side, spoilt by excessive length. <i>The Rhyme of +the Duchess May</i> is much better. <i>The Romaunt of Margret</i> altogether fails +to catch the weird effect aimed at, while <i>The Lay of the Brown Rosary</i> +succeeds. But apart from the <i>Sonnets from the Portuguese</i> and some of the +miscellaneous sonnets, her truest note is pathos. <i>Bertha in the Lane</i>, a +simple story, sentimental but not weak, is an example of one aspect of it; +<i>A Child’s Grave</i>, already mentioned, of another; and, perhaps highest of +all, <i>The Cry of the Children</i> of a third.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Browning had a dangerous facility of composition, and much that she +wrote is poor. Few poets gain more by selection. A small volume of pieces +judiciously chosen would convince the reader that he was listening to the +voice of a true and even a great poet; but his sense of this is lost in +the flatness and weariness of the five superfluous volumes.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Edward FitzGerald<br />(1809-1883).</div> + +<p>There remains one very remarkable poet, Edward FitzGerald, whom it is +difficult to place. Formally, he ought to be classed merely as an +interpreter of other men’s thoughts; but in reality he is an original poet +of no mean rank, and his friendship with Tennyson, together with the +strong intellectual quality of his principal work, gives him an affinity +to the group<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span> now under discussion. His first noteworthy publication was a +fine prose dialogue, <i>Euphranor</i> (1851), but his principal work was the +translation of poetry. He translated six dramas of Calderon (1853), the +<i>Rubáiyát</i> of Omar Khayyám (1859), <i>Salámán and Absál</i> (1856), and the +<i>Agamemnon</i> of Æschylus, which, having been first privately printed, was +published anonymously in 1876.</p> + +<p>Probably no other translator ever showed equal originality. As a rule, the +reader of a version of poetry, even if he be unacquainted with the +original, feels a sense of loss. Pope’s Homer is ‘a pretty poem;’ but not +only is it not Homer, we feel that it is not worthy of the great +reputation of Homer; and there is not one of the numerous versions of +<i>Faust</i> but falls far short of the force and suggestiveness of the +original. It is not so with FitzGerald. To some extent in the case of all +his poems, but eminently in the case of the <i>Rubáiyát</i>, we feel that we +are in the presence of a man of native power; and some Persian scholars +hold that in this instance the order of merit is reversed, and that +FitzGerald is greater than Omar.</p> + +<p>That his success was partly due to an inborn gift for rendering verse is +proved by FitzGerald’s high, though not equal felicity, as a translator of +poets so different as Æschylus, Calderon, and Omar Khayyám. But partly +also it was due to a very liberal theory of translation, outlined by +himself in the prefaces to Calderon and the <i>Agamemnon</i>. In the former he +says, ‘I have, while faithfully trying to retain what was fine and +efficient, sunk, reduced, altered, and replaced much that seemed not; +simplified some perplexities, and curtailed or omitted scenes that seemed +to mar the general effect, supplying such omissions by some lines of +after-narrative; and in some measure have tried to compensate for the +fulness of sonorous Spanish, which Saxon English at least must forego, by +a compression which has its<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span> own charms to Saxon ears.’ The extent to +which he allowed himself liberties may be partly gauged by the differences +between the first and fourth editions of the <i>Rubáiyát</i>. In short, +FitzGerald was more properly a paraphrast than a translator. He got into +his mind a conception of the central meaning of the work and of the +author’s character where, as in the case of Omar, that was of importance +as a key to the meaning; and he then, without troubling himself about +exact equivalence of word or phrase, or even of whole sections, proceeded +to create a similar impression in the new language. Hence his work is +wholly free from the impression of cramped movement so common in +translations.</p> + +<p>With reference to Omar, FitzGerald had first to decide whether his +quatrains were to be interpreted literally, or as the utterances of a +mystic Sufism, in which the wine so frequently sung of really meant Deity, +and all the sensual images covered a spiritual meaning. Fortunately, he +decided for the former alternative; and whatever the real Omar may have +been, FitzGerald’s Omar is an epicurean. The original Omar has been +compared to Lucretius; as FitzGerald represents him he is far more +suggestive of Horace. His touch is lighter than the elder Roman’s; and he +has no system, nor any ambition to frame one. Rather it is his conviction +of the futility of systems that makes him what he is. He is a thoughtful +man, questioning the meaning of life, finding no answer except in the +philosophy of ‘eat, drink, and be merry, for to-morrow we die,’ and +drawing thence the inevitable melancholy it must impart to the reflective +mind.</p> + +<p class="poem">‘There was the Door to which I found no Key;<br /> +There was the Veil through which I might not see;<br /> +Some little talk awhile of <span class="smcap">Me</span> and <span class="smcap">Thee</span><br /> +There was—and then no more of <span class="smcap">Thee</span> and <span class="smcap">Me</span>.’</p> + +<p>Herein lies the charm of his epicureanism, and herein too<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span> its kinship +with that of Horace. In both, the moral, <i>carpe diem</i>, is the advice of +men who, in spite of themselves, must live for more than the day.</p> + +<p>Thanks to the deeply human element in his philosophy, Horace after +nineteen centuries is one of the most modern of poets. He has been +emphatically the guide of the man of the world, whose experience, as it +broadens, more and more convinces him of the poet’s truth. FitzGerald’s +Omar has the same modern tone, perhaps in a degree even higher. His +necessitarianism is modern, his scepticism is modern, and the difficulties +in which it arises are modern too. His stinging quatrains answer a +theology familiar enough to the readers of Burns, and seem to breathe the +spirit of the Scotch poet’s satires on the Kirk:</p> + +<p class="poem">‘Oh Thou, who didst with pitfall and with gin<br /> +Beset the Road I was to wander in,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thou wilt not with Predestined Evil round</span><br /> +Enmesh, and then impute my Fall to Sin!<br /> +<br /> +‘Oh Thou, who Man of baser Earth didst make,<br /> +And ev’n with Paradise devise the Snake:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For all the Sin wherewith the face of Man</span><br /> +Is blacken’d—Man’s forgiveness give—and take!’</p> + +<p>Except perhaps in America, FitzGerald is not yet appreciated as he ought +to be. When he is so appreciated he will rank only under the greatest of +his time, and his chief work will be classed little below their best.</p> + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI.</h2> +<p class="center"><span class="large">POETRY FROM 1850 TO 1870: THE PRE-RAPHAELITES; THE SPASMODIC SCHOOL; MINOR POETS.</span></p> + +<div class="sidenote">Dante Gabriel Rossetti<br />(1828-1882).</div> + +<p>Contemporary with the great poets, who seem to feel first of all the +imperative necessity of understanding and interpreting the intellectual +movement of the age, were others, some of them great too, in whose work +passion takes a prior place to intellect. Of these the most talented group +were the Pre-Raphaelites, and the greatest man was Dante Gabriel Rossetti. +The celebrated founder of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood was a man who had +the rare fortune to be highly distinguished in two arts. Other +artists—Thomas Woolner and William Bell Scott and Sir Joseph Noel Paton +are contemporary examples—have been poets also; but no one has attained a +level at once as high and as equal in both as Rossetti. He has also been +influential upon others in a degree rare even among men of as great +calibre; and finally, he was only the greatest of a family all highly +gifted in literature.</p> + +<p>Rossetti, though English by birth, was more Italian than English by blood, +and he was brought up in an atmosphere largely Italian. Both his literary +and his artistic talents showed themselves early. The literary organ of +the Pre-Raphaelites, <i>The Germ</i>, received some of his earliest writings; +but he had begun to compose even<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span> earlier, the two well-known pieces, <i>The +Blessed Damozel</i> and <i>My Sister’s Sleep</i>, having both been written in his +nineteenth year. The greater part of his poetry was composed in early +manhood. On the death of his wife, in 1862, Rossetti, in the transport of +his grief, buried the MSS. in her coffin. They were exhumed in 1869 and +published under the simple title of <i>Poems</i> in 1870. After his wife’s +death Rossetti for a long time wrote little poetry, though he continued +his artistic work. In later years the complete breakdown of his health +checked his production. He suffered from insomnia and attempted to cure it +by the use of chloral, with the usual result. Nevertheless, some very fine +pieces, notably <i>The King’s Tragedy</i>, are of late composition. The later +poems were gathered together in the <i>Ballads and Sonnets</i> of 1881. +Rossetti was also a translator, and in 1861 had published, under the title +of <i>The Early Italian Poets</i>, the collection now known as <i>Dante and his +Circle</i>. He likewise occasionally wrote prose, his most considerable work +being a story, poetical in spirit, entitled <i>Hand and Soul</i>.</p> + +<p>Mr. W. D. Howells (quoted in Sharp’s <i>Dante Gabriel Rossetti</i>) says it +will always be a question whether Rossetti ‘had not better have painted +his poems and written his pictures; there is so much that is purely +sensuous in the former and so much that is intellectual in the latter.’ +There is certainly an element of truth in this judgment. The sensuousness +was the cause of the celebrated attack entitled <i>The Fleshly School of +Poetry</i>, which was met by Rossetti’s effective rejoinder, <i>The Stealthy +School of Criticism</i>. The poet showed that the attack was in great measure +unjust, but he would not have sought to deny that there was sensuousness +in his poetry. He would have held, on the contrary, that poetry not only +might legitimately be, but ought to be, sensuous. This conception<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span> +influenced Rossetti’s whole style of poetical portraiture. We see its +effect in the fine description of a girl in <i>A Last Confession</i>, +beginning, ‘She had a mouth made to bring death to life.’ It is all so +written that from it the painter could easily put the portrait on canvas.</p> + +<p>But with respect to the allegation of sensuousness, the question for +criticism is one of degree. There are two aspects of it, the moral and the +artistic, which, though not entirely distinct, are best treated apart. +Rossetti’s answer was most successful upon the moral side, though even in +this respect there remained one or two pieces not easily justified. From +the artistic point of view, it must be said that the sensuousness is +sometimes so great as to blur the intellectual outlines. We see this +particularly in the sonnets, which many regard as Rossetti’s best work in +poetry. He certainly does put into the sonnet a fulness of melody and a +wealth of colour not surpassed and perhaps, in their conjunction, hardly +equalled in the language. But when we ask if the idea of the sonnet stands +out with due clearness, the answer must be in the negative. In the best +sonnets of Milton and Wordsworth, and in a less degree in those of +Drummond of Hawthornden, of Mrs. Browning and of Christina Rossetti, the +idea is precise and definite. Dante Rossetti is a poet who ‘deals in +meanings,’ but he sometimes darkens, if he does not altogether bury, the +meaning under a wealth of sonorous words. The fault of over-elaboration, +which is chargeable also against the pictorial art of the Pre-Raphaelites, +is visible here. We see it in other aspects too. The sense of spontaneity +is lost; the poet seems to be perpetually aiming at a mark just beyond his +reach; and there is an excessive addiction to some of the subordinate +artifices of verse. Among these Rossetti’s favourite is alliteration; and +the reader is not infrequently troubled with the suspicion that a word is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span> +used, not because it is the best, but because it begins with a particular +letter.</p> + +<p>A defect kindred in origin, but more serious, is shown in Rossetti’s +treatment of nature. One of his best poems of this class is <i>The Stream’s +Secret</i>. The poet certainly wrote it ‘with his eye on the object,’ for the +stream in question was no figment of the brain, but the Penwhapple in +Ayrshire. All the more for that reason it illustrates the difference +between inspiration and conscientious study. Rossetti did not feel natural +beauty like Wordsworth, and his descriptions have not the easy grace of +the true poet of nature. He deliberately set out to make a poem, with the +result that he produced a fine piece of skilled workmanship.</p> + +<p>Next perhaps to Rossetti’s reputation as a writer of sonnets stands his +reputation as a balladist; and it may be questioned whether the order +ought not to be reversed. Rossetti’s art was far too elaborate for a +ballad of the genuine old type. Even in <i>The White Ship</i> there is a note +which distinguishes it not only from the true popular ballad, but from +such approximations as the ballads of Scott. But poetry ought to be valued +for what it is, not for conformity with what may possibly be a misleading +standard; and Rossetti’s ballads are noble poetry. He imbibed enough of +the ballad spirit to check his habitual faults, and of all his +compositions the ballads are the simplest and most natural. The universal +favourite, <i>The King’s Tragedy</i> is a grand story told with great fire and +energy. So, too, <i>Rose Mary</i> is a powerful and beautiful poem, less +uniform however than <i>The King’s Tragedy</i>, for the lyrics between the +parts are at best second-rate. It is in pieces like these, and in some of +the more clearly-thought sonnets, like <i>Lost Days</i>, that Rossetti proves +himself the true poet. The more deeply sensuous sonnets, and such +characteristic pieces as <i>The Blessed Damozel</i>, are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span> representative rather +of the dangers and defects of his poetry.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Christina Georgina Rossetti<br />(1830-1894).</div> + +<p>Less great but hardly less interesting than her brother was Christina +Georgina Rossetti, who, like him, wrote for <i>The Germ</i>, though she +published no volume of poems for many years afterwards. Though her course +extends far beyond the limits of the period, the poetical work for which +she is most memorable was chiefly done within it, and her closest +connexions belong to it too. Her first published volume was <i>Goblin +Market, and other Poems</i> (1862); her second, <i>The Prince’s Progress, and +other Poems</i> (1866). Then, after some prose tales, came the book of +nursery rhymes, <i>Sing-Song</i> (1872). From this time onwards, except for <i>A +Pageant, and other Poems</i> (1881), Miss Rossetti’s books were chiefly of a +devotional character; but one of them, <i>Time Flies</i> (1885), contains some +of the finest of her verse.</p> + +<p>The religious poems form a most important section of Christina Rossetti’s +works. She is one of the most profoundly devotional of modern writers. +Unlike Arnold and Clough, she is not a poet of doubt but of faith; unlike +Browning’s, her creed is rather a creed of feeling than of intellect. But +while she is not touched with the doubt of the age she is touched with its +sadness. Her devotional pieces have sometimes, as in <i>Advent</i>, the ring of +conquering faith, but more often they have in them something of a wail. +What Dr. John Brown called the ‘inevitable melancholy’ of women seems to +find a voice in Christina Rossetti; and though she is bound by her faith +to an ultimately optimistic view, her habitual tone of mind is gloomy. +‘Vanity of vanities’ is the title of her finest sonnet, and it is also the +conclusion she draws from the life of this world.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span>One of the praiseworthy points of Christina Rossetti’s work is that, while +invariably imaginative, it never fails to be clear. In this respect she +far surpasses her brother. The marks of the artist’s chisel are, as we +have seen, too conspicuous in his work; in hers they are invisible. Yet +few writers are more carefully artistic than she. Less ambitious in her +aims than Dante Rossetti, her work impresses the reader with its adequacy +to those aims. Herein she has an advantage over Mrs. Browning also. The +latter has produced a far greater body of work, and at her best writes +with far more strength than Miss Rossetti; but on the other hand Miss +Rossetti is free from those astonishing lapses into bathos or triviality +or mere bad taste which disfigure Mrs. Browning’s poetry. The two +poetesses meet most closely in their respective series of sonnets—<i>Monna +Innominata</i> and the <i>Sonnets from the Portuguese</i>. These are among the +masterpieces of each, for both were peculiarly happy in the sonnet form; +Christina Rossetti because she was an artist by nature, Mrs. Browning +probably because the form compelled her to be an artist. The comparison is +unquestionably in favour of Mrs. Browning. The <i>Sonnets from the +Portuguese</i> are richer and deeper than <i>Monna Innominata</i>. They record a +love actually felt; and they are the product of an intellect wider, though +perhaps less fine than Christina Rossetti’s. But as regards the form, it +is by no means clear that the advantage lies with the elder writer. Mrs. +Browning’s sonnets are sometimes laboured in expression; Christina +Rossetti’s have an inimitable ease, all the more delightful because in +modern poetry it is rare. Her beautifully pure style is one of her +greatest merits; and it is also one of the most striking points of +contrast between her and her brother. A sonorous richness is +characteristic of his style, a fine simplicity of hers. This simplicity,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span> +and the fineness of touch and delicacy of taste which accompanied it, +served her well in those poems of the supernatural where her imaginative +flight is highest. She is a mistress in the fairy realm, and in its own +class <i>Goblin Market</i> is unsurpassed.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">William Edmondstoune Aytoun<br />(1813-1865).</div> + +<p>Another school which sprang up about the middle of the century, taking its +rise in the longing for something deeper and more satisfying than had been +recently in vogue, was that nicknamed ‘the Spasmodic.’ The name was fixed +upon the school by the extremely clever satirist of it, William +Edmondstoune Aytoun, himself a poet of a very different family, that of +Scott. Aytoun is best known from his <i>Lays of the Scottish Cavaliers</i> +(1848), narratives of martial exploit and tragic sorrow written in +animated but excessively rhetorical verse. He was also, in conjunction +with Mr. (afterwards Sir) Theodore Martin, the author of the <i>Bon Gaultier +Ballads</i> (1845), one of the most amusing collections of comic verse of +this century. His satire of the Spasmodic School is contained in +<i>Firmilian</i> (1854), a mock-serious piece purporting to be by a member of +the school. It was at the time customary to say that Aytoun had killed the +Spasmodic School. If he had done so he would hardly have deserved well of +literature. But though it is true that the Spasmodic Poets shot up like a +rocket only to come down like the spent stick, both the rise and the fall +were due partly to whims of popular taste, while the main cause of the +fall lay in defects of the writers which satire did not make and could do +little to remedy. On the whole, <i>Firmilian</i> was more likely to have helped +the school than to have hurt it if it had contained in itself the seeds of +long life. But the name ‘spasmodic’ was only too accurately descriptive of +more than its style,—unfortunately so, for both<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span> the chief members, +Sydney Dobell and Alexander Smith, possessed talents for poetry in some +respects very high.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Sydney Dobell<br />(1824-1874).</div> + +<p>Sydney Dobell had the misfortune to be born a member of a narrow and +intense religious sect, in which his talents caused him to be regarded as +the destined instrument for some grand design of providence. He outgrew +the sect, but never quite outgrew the education it had given him and the +ideas it had instilled. From about 1850 he devoted himself chiefly to +literature. His writings are <i>The Roman</i> (1850), <i>Balder</i> (1853), <i>Sonnets +on the War</i> (1855), in which he collaborated with Alexander Smith, and +<i>England in Time of War</i> (1856). But his health failed, and though he +lived eighteen years longer he wrote little more of consequence.</p> + +<p>‘He never weeded his garden,’ wrote Dr. John Brown of him, ‘and will, I +fear, be therefore strangled in his waste fertility.’ This is the central +truth about Dobell. Few poets are so uneven, perhaps hardly any poet +capable of rising so high has ever sunk so low. Many passages are mere +fustian, some are outrages against all taste; but others have a sublimity +not often surpassed.</p> + +<p>At the beginning Dobell gave promise of development which, if fulfilled, +would have led him very high indeed. In the short interval between <i>The +Roman</i> and <i>Balder</i> the youthful author had grown surprisingly. <i>The +Roman</i>, a fervid poem carrying on a Byronic tradition of interest in +Italy, has all the faults of youth. It is too long, and it is bombastic. +Its chief merit is width of sympathy; and it also contains here and there +hints that promise in the future reach of thought. In <i>Balder</i> we see this +promise redeemed. It is far more forcible than <i>The Roman</i> and it is +loaded with thought. <i>Balder</i> was a poem of vast design. It was to be in +three parts, of which only<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span> one was ever published. The purpose was, in +the words of the author’s preface, to trace ‘the progress of a human being +from Doubt to Faith, from Chaos to Order. Not of Doubt incarnate to Faith +incarnate, but of a doubtful mind to a faithful mind.’ The design +therefore bears a certain general resemblance to that of <i>Paracelsus</i>. +<i>Balder</i> is not equal to that great poem. It is even more difficult while +less profound, and it is especially far less of a unity. It is, strictly +speaking, paradoxical to regard as a whole what proclaims itself as a +part; but a part of a great design may have completeness in itself, and +this <i>Balder</i> has not.</p> + +<p>Again, if we regard the poem in the light most favourable to it, as a +collection of passages in verse, we have to admit the most amazing +inequalities. Few passages in literature are more hideous than the +description of the monster on which Tyranny rides; but, on the other hand, +the best passages may challenge comparison with all but the greatest +poetry. Even this comparison has been sometimes made. The description of +Chamouni has been said to rival the great hymn of Coleridge, and that of +the Coliseum the celebrated stanzas of Byron on the same subject. The +comparison, especially with Coleridge, is unkind to Dobell. At his best he +cannot rival one of the most poetic minds in all literature in one of its +highest flights. Nevertheless, both passages are exceedingly good. The +subjects moreover are characteristic. Magnitude and massiveness are +congenial to Dobell, and almost necessary to draw out his best. ‘Alone +among our modern poets,’ says Dr. Garnett, ‘he finds the sublime a +congenial element.’ It is in such passages as those named, and in Balder’s +magnificent vision of war, that Dobell shows the grand material of poetry +that was in him.</p> + +<p>For this reason it might have been expected that Dobell’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span> next volumes, +<i>Sonnets on the War</i> and <i>England in Time of War</i>, would have been more +uniformly good. <i>The Roman</i> proves that he had the fire of patriotism in +his veins, and many passages of his verse show that this fire was not all +spent, as most of Byron’s was, to warm other nations than his own. Of all +the poets then living, Dobell had the largest share of Tennyson’s +patriotic fervour and of his love for warlike themes. Nevertheless, the +<i>Sonnets on the War</i> are of but moderate merit; and though <i>England in +Time of War</i> contains some powerful pieces, it has all the inequality of +Dobell’s earlier poetry. Dobell had learnt little of the art of +self-criticism, and whether he had the capacity to learn must remain +doubtful. He afterwards wrote a few fine poems, such as <i>The Magyar’s +New-Year-Eve</i> and <i>The Youth of England to Garibaldi’s Legion</i>, but broken +health prevented him from undertaking any great work. He remains therefore +a poet great by snatches. A selection, including the passages already +mentioned, <i>An Evening Dream</i>, with its stirring ring of heroism, the +fascinating ballad, <i>Keith of Ravelston</i>, and some others, might be made, +which would greatly raise his reputation. The volume would not be large, +but the contents would be excellent.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Alexander Smith<br />(1829-1867).</div> + +<p>Next in importance among the Spasmodic Poets to Dobell was Alexander +Smith. He was the son of a pattern-designer of Kilmarnock, Ayrshire, and +in his now little known but quietly pleasing novel, <i>Alfred Hagart’s +Household</i>, he has embodied a good deal of autobiographic matter. He was +also the author of a thoughtful and well-written volume of essays, +<i>Dreamthorp</i>. But he is first and chiefly a poet. His earliest volume was +<i>A Life Drama</i> (1853), which excited a degree of interest rarely roused by +the first work of a young author. It was warmly praised and loudly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span> +condemned; and the result of the controversy that raged over it was to +make the author for a short time one of the most prominent writers in the +kingdom. But his fame speedily declined, and <i>City Poems</i> (1857), though +it contains some of his best work, was coldly received. <i>Edwin of Deira</i> +(1861) was somewhat more successful, but was far from reviving the +interest which had centred in <i>A Life Drama</i>.</p> + +<p>The present generation, which has been unjust to Dobell, has dealt still +more hardly with Alexander Smith. The Nemesis of excessive praise is +unjust depreciation, and both have been Smith’s lot. He has been denied +the title of poet altogether; but he is a poet, and even a considerable +one. He shares both the defects and the excellences of Dobell, never +sinking so low, and, on the other hand, never rising as high. His +execution is unequal, he rants, he uses metaphor to excess, he is by no +means free from affectation. But though the <i>Life Drama</i> is crude and +unequal, there is plenty of promise in it. There was ground to hope that +the spirit from which it proceeded was like a turbid torrent which would +by-and-by deposit its mud and flow on strong and clear. To those who hoped +thus <i>Edwin of Deira</i> was disappointing. A good deal of the mud had been +deposited, the execution was more perfect, but there was less strength and +less volume of thought than might have been expected. It is in his minor +pieces and in occasional lines and passages that Smith shows best. There +is rare beauty in the melancholy close of the lyric <i>Barbara</i> in <i>Horton</i>. +The picture of the sphinx, ‘staring right on with calm eternal eyes,’ has +the true touch of imagination; and so has the image of the wind smiting +‘his thunder-harp of pines.’ <i>Glasgow</i> in the <i>City Poems</i>, is a strong as +well as a beautiful piece. There can be no question of the imaginative +power of this picture of the city in its cloud of smoke pierced by +sunlight:</p> + +<p class="poem"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span> +‘When sunset bathes thee in his gold,<br /> +In wreaths of bronze thy sides are rolled,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thy smoke is dusky fire;</span><br /> +And, from the glory round thee poured,<br /> +A sunbeam like an angel’s sword<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shivers upon a spire.</span><br /> +Thus have I watched thee, Terror! Dream!<br /> +While the blue night crept up the stream.’</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Coventry Patmore<br />(1823-1896).</div> + +<p>There remain two or three considerable poets whom it is difficult to +classify. Coventry Patmore cannot be placed in either the Pre-Raphaelite +or the Spasmodic School, and though he has some points of affinity with +the poets of the intellectual movement, they are not close enough to +justify ranking him with them. Patmore is especially the poet of domestic +love. His greatest work, <i>The Angel in the House</i> (1854-1856), was meant +to be a poem on married life. In the opening the poet congratulates +himself that he, though born so late, has had the good fortune to discover +‘the first of themes sung last of all.’ As he proceeded however he found +his mistake, and never carried out his design; but it imparted the +characteristic tone of quiet domestic affection to his verse. He may be +described as the Wordsworth of the home. He is seldom if ever great, but +his verse at its best has a simple sweetness, with an occasional dignity, +that is exceedingly pleasing. It is unfortunate that against the merits of +the better passages of <i>The Angel in the House</i> there has to be set the +weakness of the letters of Jane. Patmore’s purpose was to fit the thought +to the character; but merely weak thought and merely weak character have +no right to a place in poetry such as this. There is no dramatic +realisation and no humour to justify them.</p> + +<p><i>The Unknown Eros</i> (1877) is a work strangely different<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span> from <i>The Angel +in the House</i>; it is more lyrical and more ambitiously imaginative; and +for this very reason it brings into greater prominence Patmore’s +weaknesses. There is a frequent sense of effort. The meaning is often +obscure, and there are here and there, as in the earlier poem, surprising +lapses of taste. The poem recalls Drummond of Hawthornden, not only by the +rhythm, but also by a certain ‘preciosity’ of diction and imagery.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">The second Lord Lytton<br />(1831-1891).</div> + +<p>The second Lord Lytton, best known in literature by his pseudonym of Owen +Meredith, must also be ranked among ‘the unattached’ of literature. He had +a distinguished diplomatic career which more than once interrupted his +pen. But, except for the intervals caused by his various ambassadorships +and his eventful tenure of the Viceroyalty of India, Lytton was, from 1855 +to his death, a diligent writer. In 1855 <i>Clytemnestra and other Poems</i> +appeared, while <i>Marah</i> was a posthumous work. The greater part of +Lytton’s writings is poetical, and their total bulk is very great. It is +indeed too great for his fame, and most of his poems would be improved by +condensation. Lytton presents a singular example of heredity, which, in +his case, showed itself in a manner damaging to his reputation. We have +seen how the first Lord Lytton veered with every turn of the popular +taste. The second Lord Lytton changed his style, chameleon-like, with +almost every poet he happened to be reading. The consequence is, in the +first place, that his own style is not easily discovered; and in the +second place that he has been accused of plagiarism with more show of +reason than almost any other man of equal literary rank. It is not merely +that he echoes successively the pensive sentiment and melancholy +reflectiveness of Arnold, the rich diction of Tennyson, the headlong +abundance of Browning, the lyrical sweetness of Shelley,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span> or that he in a +snatch or two almost paraphrases Byron. In <i>Lucile</i>, his indebtedness to +George Sand is far more extensive. It is true he avowed that he had taken +from her the story of the piece; but the story is the principal part of +it, and no writer ought to borrow quite so much from another. The fault is +a serious one, and it is reason sufficient for the belief that Owen +Meredith will never take a high place in poetry; yet his endowments were +almost great, his taste was purer than his father’s, and had he been more +independent-minded he might have stood high in the second class of the +poets of the century.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">J. B. Leicester Warren, Lord de Tabley<br />(1835-1895).</div> + +<p>J. B. Leicester Warren, Lord de Tabley, was a man of richer poetic gifts, +who might have done very great work had he met with popular encouragement. +He began his poetic career as early as 1859, but his first volume of +importance was <i>Præterita</i>, issued under the pseudonym of William +Lancaster, in 1863. For the next ten years he was an active writer. Partly +his own taste and partly admiration for <i>Atalanta in Calydon</i> induced him +to attempt the classical drama; and his two experiments, <i>Philoctetes</i> +(1866) and <i>Orestes</i> (1867), rank among the most finished of their class. +They secured the warm approval of the best judges, but they did not become +popular. He tried novels, also without winning popularity; and after two +more experiments in verse—<i>Rehearsals</i> (1870) and <i>Searching the Net</i> +(1873)—he almost disappeared from the ranks of authors for twenty years; +for the <i>Soldier of Fortune</i>, though bulky, can hardly be considered +important. It was the reissue in 1893 of his best pieces under the title +of <i>Poems Dramatic and Lyrical</i> that first made Lord de Tabley’s name +widely known. So marked was the success of this collection that it was +followed two years later<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span> by another, which was less successful because it +was the result of a less rigid selection.</p> + +<p>These volumes represent Lord de Tabley at his best, and that best is very +good indeed. Such pieces as the <i>Hymn to Astarte</i>, the <i>Woodland Grave</i> +and <i>Jael</i>, would do honour to any poet. There is intense dramatic power +in the last-named piece, and a rich magnificence of style in the others. A +tendency to sameness may sometimes be detected. He has, for example, one +favourite colour, and the whole world is seen by him bathed in an amber +light. There are also here and there echoes of contemporary poets, such as +Browning, and still more, Swinburne, whose fulness of sound attracted De +Tabley. But he is an essentially independent poet, and had he been +encouraged to write he would doubtless have grown increasingly +independent. Few losses in contemporary literature are more serious than +that occasioned by his almost complete silence between 1873 and 1893, just +the years when, by reason of his age, his work ought to have been best. He +was a great man unrecognised, and the failure to recognise is sometimes +severely punished.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">William Morris<br />(1834-1896).</div> + +<p>Most of Lord de Tabley’s contemporaries by birth belong rather to the +subsequent period than to the Age of Tennyson. Even Swinburne did so, +though before 1870 he had, by the publication of <i>Atalanta in Calydon</i> +(1865), enriched English literature with one of its most perfect dramas on +the Greek model, and by the <i>Poems and Ballads</i> (1866) had ‘raised a +storm, and founded a school.’ The fact that he founded a school makes him +rather the poetical leader of the present generation than a member of the +preceding one. In some ways Lord de Tabley has more affinity to this later +band than to those who were under the dominion of Carlyle and Browning and +Tennyson. He certainly shows the workings of a new spirit, and seems<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span> to +feel the old ideals insufficient; but his twenty years of literary eclipse +serve to fix him chronologically rather among the older men. For a +different reason William Morris, a man just one year older than De Tabley, +also belongs, as a poet, to this period. Morris was a man who played many +parts in life, and he played them not concurrently, but rather +successively. In his characters as high priest of domestic art and as +prophet to the Socialists he is identified with the closing quarter of the +century; while his greatest achievements in poetry belong to the third +quarter. <i>The Defence of Guenevere and other Poems</i> (1858) was his first +volume of verse. Then after nine years came <i>The Life and Death of Jason</i>, +followed almost immediately by <i>The Earthly Paradise</i> (1868-1870). Morris +afterwards translated the <i>Æneid</i> and the <i>Odyssey</i>, and he also did much +to make familiar in England the spirit of Icelandic literature. His +<i>Sigurd the Volsung</i> (1876) is certainly the finest English poem inspired +by Scandinavia, and perhaps his greatest work.</p> + +<p>Morris is the most prominent example in these later days of that revival +of the mediæval spirit which was initiated by the Romanticists of the +latter part of last century, which attained its fullest flower in Scott, +and which shows itself in such varied aspects in Rossetti’s poetry, in the +Pre-Raphaelite painters, and in the Oxford theologians. Morris exhibits it +in a way quite his own. Chaucer more than any one else is his master in +poetry. To him Morris reverted for the model of his verse, and the old +poet’s influence is seen in the disciple’s mode of conception as well as +in many turns of expression. One thing however Morris could not learn, +though Chaucer was eminently qualified to teach it, and that was the true +narrative spirit. Morris chose the narrative form, but the interest of +his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span> poetry rarely lies in the story. He does not himself care greatly for +the story. He is never passionate; he is too calm to enter deeply into the +feelings or to be absorbed in the fortunes of his characters. The charm of +his poetry resides rather in leisurely and restful beauty of description. +In this respect it ranks high, but seldom attains absolute mastery. Nearly +all of Morris is readable and enjoyable, but few of his lines linger in +the memory, and perhaps the only one frequently quoted is that in which he +describes himself as ‘the idle singer of an empty day.’ Morris was more +than this, but it may be questioned whether there is enough either of the +substance of thought in his verse or of melody and pure poetic beauty to +keep it long alive.</p> + + +<p class="center"><br /><span class="smcaplc">MINOR POETS.</span></p> + +<div class="sidenote">Sarah Flower Adams<br />(1805-1848).</div> + +<p>Sarah Flower Adams is sure of at least a small niche in the temple of the +English poets were it but for the beautiful hymn, ‘Nearer, my God, to +thee.’ Her <i>Vivia Perpetua</i> is an ill-constructed drama, partly redeemed +by fine passages.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">William Allingham<br />(1824-1889).</div> + +<p>William Allingham was an Irish poet, of much taste, but of no great power. +His inspiration is strangely fitful and uncertain, and after his removal +to London, in consequence of the success of his earlier verses, it seemed +almost wholly to desert him. He was for a time editor of <i>Fraser’s +Magazine</i>.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">John Stuart Blackie<br />(1809-1895).</div> + +<p>John Stuart Blackie, for many years Professor of Greek in Edinburgh +University, was a very vigorous miscellaneous writer. He translated +Æschylus, the <i>Iliad</i> and <i>Faust</i>. He was very successful in the lighter +lyrical strain, and appears at his best in his rollicking and amusing +university songs.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Robert Barnabas Brough<br />(1828-1860).</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span>Robert Barnabas Brough was the author of <i>Songs of the Governing Classes</i> +(1859), a small collection of pieces, chiefly satirical, and remarkable +for their vigour, point and sincerity. Strength of feeling, clearness of +intellect and wit are his characteristics. Brough was generally very much +in earnest, but in his <i>Neighbour Nellie</i> he showed that he could touch +lighter themes very charmingly.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Charles Stuart Calverley<br />(1831-1884).</div> + +<p>Charles Stuart Calverley, the scholarly and witty author of <i>Verses and +Translations</i> (1862) and <i>Fly Leaves</i> (1872), had a faculty for more +serious things, but, partly from indifference, partly because of the +accident which made great effort in his later years impossible, he never +wrote anything worthy of his talents. What he has left however is the very +best of its kind. He is one of the most skilful of translators; and his +parodies and satiric verse are excellent.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Mortimer Collins<br />(1827-1876).</div> + +<p>Mortimer Collins, poet and novelist, had a very happy knack for the +lighter kinds of lyrical verse, half playful and half serious. Under +pressure of circumstances he wrote too much, and the failure to ‘polish +and refine’ tells against a great deal of his work.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">William Cory<br />(1823-1892).</div> + +<p>William Cory, originally Johnson, for many years one of the masters of +Eton, was the author of a small volume of Poems entitled <i>Ionica</i> (1858), +which, after long neglect, won, in its third edition of 1891, the +attention due to thoughtfulness and scholarly expression. Cory’s best +pieces, such as <i>Mimnermus in Church</i>, soar beyond the range of the minor +poet, and show that it only needed quantity to insure him a considerable +place in literature. But he wrote few such pieces, and indeed little verse +of any kind after <i>Ionica</i>.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Sir Francis Hastings Doyle<br />(1810-1888).</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span>Sir Francis Hastings Doyle succeeded Matthew Arnold in the chair of poetry +at Oxford. Doyle is distinguished for the spirit and the martial ring of +the ballads in which he celebrates deeds of daring. <i>The Red Thread of +Honour</i>, <i>The Private of the Buffs</i>, and <i>Mehrab Khan</i> are pieces that +take high rank among poems inspired by sympathy with the heroism of the +soldier.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Sir Samuel Ferguson<br />(1810-1886).</div> + +<p>Sir Samuel Ferguson has been called the national poet of Ireland, on the +score of <i>Congal</i>, an epic published in 1872. He is really more remarkable +for his shorter pieces, some of the best of which deal with subjects not +specially Irish. He was an active contributor to the <i>Dublin University +Magazine</i> at the beginning of the period.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Adam Lindsay Gordon<br />(1833-1870).</div> + +<p>Adam Lindsay Gordon divides with Charles Harpur and Alfred Domett +(Browning’s ‘Waring’) the honour of being laureate of the Antipodes. +Wildness in youth drove him to Australia. It is probably true that but for +the stirring and adventurous life there he never would have written +anything of note; nevertheless, what we find in his verse is rather the +spirit of the English hunting field and of English adventure the world +over, than much that is distinctively Australian.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">David Gray<br />(1838-1861).</div> + +<p>David Gray, author of <i>The Luggie</i>, a poem on a small stream which flowed +near his home, was cut off too soon to do much in literature. His verse +however is pleasant, and it might have acquired power. It retains a +pathetic interest on account of the author’s fate. He was drawn by the +hope of fame from his native village to London, caught a cold there, and +died while his poem was in process of printing.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Dora Greenwell<br />(1821-1882).</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span>Dora Greenwell is chiefly remarkable as a writer of religious verse, the +best of which is to be found in <i>Carmina Crucis</i>. She also wrote prose of +considerable merit.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Robert Stephen Hawker<br />(1803-1875).</div> + +<p>Robert Stephen Hawker, a clergyman who spent his life in the remote parish +of Morwenstow, in Cornwall, is best known for his <i>Cornish Ballads</i> +(1869). The spirited and stirring <i>Song of the Western Men</i>, printed as +early as 1826, and accepted by Scott as a genuine old ballad, is the most +celebrated of all his compositions. Hawker wrote also <i>The Quest of the +Sangraal</i> (1863), a poem displaying a mysticism which must have been +deep-seated in the author’s character; for it led to his reception, just +before he died, into the Roman Catholic Church.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Jean Ingelow<br />(1820-1897).</div> + +<p>Jean Ingelow is one of the best of recent poetesses, and has also acquired +a considerable, though a less conspicuous name as a writer of fiction. She +is best as a lyrist, and some of her poems are touched with a very fine +and true pathos. She likewise excels in the modern ballad form.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Edward Lear<br />(1812-1888).</div> + +<p>Edward Lear, author of the <i>Nonsense Rhymes</i> (1861) stands high in the +very peculiar and difficult kind of writing indicated by the title of his +book. There are other writers of humorous verse, like Lewis Carroll, who +possess greater qualities, but the <i>Nonsense Rhymes</i> are unique for rich +whimsical inventiveness. Lear was an artist as well as a writer, and +illustrated his own books.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Gerald Massey<br />(1828-1907).</div> + +<p>Gerald Massey is a minor poet of unusual range. His attachment to the +Christian Socialists gives a clue to his work; but in him the enthusiasm +of humanity is concentrated in an intense patriotism. Massey’s martial +verse is fine, but not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span> quite excellent. <i>Sir Richard Grenville’s Last +Fight</i> suggests comparison with Tennyson’s <i>Revenge</i>; and the comparison +illustrates the difference between good art and consummate art. Neither is +Massey the equal of Doyle on this side; but he is far more varied and +copious.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">The Honourable Mrs. Norton<br />(1808-1877).</div> + +<p>The Honourable Mrs. Norton was a grand-daughter of Richard Brinsley +Sheridan, and inherited some of the family genius. Her poetic gift was not +great, but her verse is spirited, and has frequently a ring of genuine +pathos. Her sister, Lady Dufferin, also wrote verse, which, though less +brilliant than Mrs. Norton’s, is on the whole of a more poetic quality.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Adelaide Anne Procter<br />(1825-1864).</div> + +<p>Adelaide Anne Procter, daughter of Barry Cornwall, was a pleasing writer +of the type of Mrs. Hemans, that is to say, feminine in the less +flattering sense. There is a certain grace in her verse, but it is +altogether destitute of weight and power of thought. Most of her poems +were originally contributed to Dickens’s papers, <i>Household Words</i> and +<i>All the Year Round</i>.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">William Caldwell Roscoe<br />(1823-1859).</div> + +<p>William Caldwell Roscoe was at once lyrist, dramatist and critic, but +failed to achieve greatness in any of these lines. If Roscoe had lived +longer he might possibly have justified the opinion of his friends; but +his actual performance, though graceful, is not weighty.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">William Bell Scott<br />(1811-1890).</div> + +<p>William Bell Scott was a poet-painter, related to and in general sympathy +with the Pre-Raphaelites, but never a member of the brotherhood. Scott’s +verse is characterised by mysticism; but mysticism in verse demands very +skilful expression, and Scott’s power over language was not sufficient. +Perhaps his best poem is <i>The Sphinx</i>.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Menella Bute Smedley<br />(1820-1877).</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span>Menella Bute Smedley wrote both prose and verse well, and occasionally +with distinction. Though an invalid, she published several volumes of +poetry, and contributed to her sister, Mrs. Hart’s <i>Child-World</i> and +<i>Poems written for a Child</i>. Miss Smedley, like so many female writers, is +in many of her poems markedly patriotic, and, though sometimes too +rhetorical, she is, when stirred, successful in pieces of this type.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">George Walter Thornbury<br />(1828-1876).</div> + +<p>George Walter Thornbury, historian of the buccaneers, was also a poet who, +in his <i>Songs of the Cavaliers and Roundheads</i> (1857) showed considerable +skill in rapid and spirited narrative. The best of his later poems are +gathered up in <i>Legendary and Historic Ballads</i> (1875).</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Aubrey de Vere<br />(1814-1902).</div> + +<p>Aubrey de Vere, an Irish poet, has written, in the course of his long +career, a good deal of pleasing and thoughtful verse. His sonnets are +especially good, as were also his father’s, but they would be still better +if they were more terse. Much of his verse is religious, and the mystical +tone of mind, indicative of the tendency which led him, as it led Hawker, +into the Roman Catholic Church, is the one most distinctive of him.</p> + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII.</h2> +<p class="center"><span class="large">THE LATER FICTION.</span></p> + +<p>After the turn of the century fiction passes through a change similar to +that of which we have seen evidence in poetry. The increased tendency to +analysis, the greater frequency of the novel of purpose, and the +philosophic strain conspicuous in George Eliot, all point to the operation +of the forces which stimulated the intellectual movement in verse. The +novelists, on the whole, take themselves more seriously than their +predecessors—not always to their own advantage or that of their readers. +Dickens, in his later days, is more of a reformer than at the opening of +his career; and Charles Reade and Kingsley likewise make a conscious +attempt to benefit society. In the case of the greatest novelist yet to be +discussed this tendency to seriousness of aim grew till it injured her +art. George Eliot was always serious in mind, but there is a great +difference in treatment between <i>Scenes of Clerical Life</i> and <i>Daniel +Deronda</i>.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">George Eliot<br />(1819-1880).</div> + +<p>Mary Ann Evans, who adopted the <i>nom de plume</i> of George Eliot, was the +daughter of an estate agent. After the death of her mother in 1836 she was +charged with the care of her father’s house. But she continued to study, +her subject at this period being language, German and Italian, Latin and +Greek. Her father moved in 1841 from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span> Griff, near Nuneaton, to Coventry. +There Miss Evans came under influences which affected her whole life. +Intercourse with certain friends named Bray, and the reading of books like +Hennell’s <i>Inquiry concerning the Origin of Christianity</i> overthrew her +hitherto unquestioning orthodoxy, gave to her thought a permanent bent, +and introduced her to literature. A project for translating Strauss’s +<i>Leben Jesu</i> into English had been for some time entertained; the person +who originally undertook the work had to abandon it; and Miss Evans took +her place. <i>The Life of Jesus</i> was published in 1846. Miss Evans +afterwards translated also Feuerbach’s <i>Essence of Christianity</i> (1854), +the only book ever published under her own name.</p> + +<p>The death of her father in 1849 left her without domestic ties, and in +1850 or 1851 she accepted the position of assistant editor of the +<i>Westminster Review</i>. In 1854 she took the most questionable step of her +life. She went to live with George Henry Lewes, not only without the +ceremony of marriage, but while he had a wife still living. All that can +be said in defence has been said by herself; but there are several +passages in her works which show that she was permanently uneasy, and was +not fully convinced that what she had done was right either towards +herself or towards society.</p> + +<p>Apart from the moral and social aspects of the question, the influence of +Lewes upon George Eliot’s literary career seems to have been mixed. On the +one hand, it must be said that he acted with a delicate generosity for +which his general character hardly prepares us. He encouraged her efforts, +recognised her genius, avowed that all he was and all he did himself were +due to her, and voluntarily sank into the second place. It is at least +possible that without such fostering care the genius of George Eliot would +not have run so smooth and successful a course. Further, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span> very +difficulties due to the relation add a deeper note to her voice. There is +often a solemn, almost tragic tone in her utterances about domestic life +which might have been absent had all been smooth between the world and +herself.</p> + +<p>On the other hand, Lewes, loyally as he effaced himself, could not but +foster tendencies in her mind which were strong enough without his +encouragement. He was a philosopher, imbued with the tenets of positivism; +and she was naturally prone to be fascinated by abstract thought. Not that +she was ever exactly original in philosophic speculation: the danger would +have been less had she been so. But she hungered for philosophy, took the +results proclaimed for absolute truth, and wove them into the fabric of +her own work. From the <i>Scenes of Clerical Life</i> to <i>Daniel Deronda</i> and +<i>Theophrastus Such</i> her writings became more and more loaded with +philosophy. The two last-named books are decidedly overloaded; and even +<i>Middlemarch</i>, the most massive, and probably on the whole the greatest +outcome of her genius, would be still greater were it somewhat lightened +of the burden.</p> + +<p><i>Blackwood</i>, the nurse of so much genius, in January, 1857, contained the +first part of what became the <i>Scenes of Clerical Life</i>. <i>Adam Bede</i> +appeared in 1859, <i>The Mill on the Floss</i> in the following year, and +<i>Silas Marner</i> in 1861. <i>Romola</i> (1863) was the outcome of a journey to +Italy in 1860. After <i>Felix Holt</i> (1866) George Eliot attempted poetry, +and visited Spain to gather materials for <i>The Spanish Gypsy</i> (1868). Her +only other long poem, <i>The Legend of Jubal</i>, was published with other +pieces in 1874. <i>Middlemarch</i> was issued in eight parts in 1871 and 1872. +<i>Daniel Deronda</i> (1876) was her last novel; and the <i>Impressions of +Theophrastus Such</i> (1879) was her last work. In 1878 Lewes died; and in +April, 1880, George Eliot<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span> married Mr. J. W. Cross, but survived the union +less than a year, dying December 22, 1880.</p> + +<p>George Eliot’s place is certainly among the great novelists. At the +lowest, she is classed after Scott, Dickens and Thackeray (and a few might +add Jane Austen); at the highest, she is placed above them all. She +carried by storm the intellect of one of the most thoughtful and weighty +of critics, Edmond Scherer, who in his <i>Études sur la Littérature +Contemporaine</i> devoted three essays to her, which have been admirably +translated by Professor Saintsbury. In the last of these Scherer goes so +far as to say that for her ‘was reserved the honour of writing the most +perfect novels yet known.’ In spite of the note of exaggeration this +judgment is significant. Only a writer, not merely of genius, but of great +genius, could have drawn it from a critic so sober-minded; a foreigner, +unbiassed by the predilections of patriotism; a man of wide knowledge, +well aware of all that his sweeping assertion implied.</p> + +<p>Most writers, even the greatest, have loaded themselves with a weight of +literary lumber. George Eliot carries less of such <i>impedimenta</i> than +many, but it will be well nevertheless to put aside at once such works as +are neither in her special field nor in her best manner. Under this head +fall the heavy and laboured volume of essays entitled <i>Impression of +Theophrastus Such</i>, and also the poems. The latter, thoughtful, and +occasionally eloquent, nevertheless prove that the writer had not the gift +of verse. Richard Congreve described <i>The Spanish Gypsy</i> as ‘a mass of +positivism.’ The description is accurate; and perhaps the fact that it is +so is, to others who are not positivists, a heavier objection than it was +to him. <i>The Legend of Jubal</i>, though better, is not great poetry.</p> + +<p>Leaving these works then aside, the novels of George<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span> Eliot fall pretty +clearly into three groups, which conform to the divisions of chronology. +In the first we have at one extreme the <i>Scenes of Clerical Life</i>, and at +the other <i>Silas Marner</i>; in the second <i>Romola</i> stands alone; in the +third, <i>Felix Holt</i>, the weakest if not the least readable of all, is +transitional; while <i>Middlemarch</i> and <i>Daniel Deronda</i> illustrate her +later manner respectively in full flower and in decay.</p> + +<p>Each of these groups has found special admirers among critics. George +Eliot herself was disposed to prefer <i>Romola</i> to all her other works; but +she seems to have been swayed by the consideration that it had cost her +more than any other book. <i>Romola</i> has been praised also as a marvellous +picture of Florentine life in the fifteenth century. Only men who are +profoundly versed in Italian character, literature and history are +entitled to pronounce upon the question; and they are few in number. But +if the statement be true the fact is wonderful, for George Eliot had only +spent about six weeks in Florence before she wrote the book. In any case +it smells of the lamp, and we may therefore suspect that it will give less +permanent pleasure than most of her novels. Tito Melema is admitted to be +a masterpiece of subtle delineation; but for the most part the picture of +Romola, her home and her associates, is laboured to a degree almost +painful.</p> + +<p>Of the two other groups, if we take them as wholes, there can be little +hesitation in assigning the palm to the earlier. The excellence here is +evener, the artistic skill finer, the style more uniformly pleasing. The +evenness of quality is proved by the fact that each work in turn has been +praised as the author’s best, or at least as equal to her best; whereas +there can be no reasonable doubt about the pre-eminence of <i>Middlemarch</i> +in the last group. The artistic excellence, again, of <i>Silas Marner</i>, +perhaps the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span> most faultless (which does not necessarily mean the best) of +English novels, is as conspicuous as are the artistic defects of +<i>Middlemarch</i>. And as to style, nearly all readers have felt how the +fresh, easy grace, the flexibility of language, the lightness of touch, +gradually disappear from the works of George Eliot; and how in her later +books passages of genuine eloquence, masterly dialogue or description or +reflexion, are mingled with leaden paragraphs wherein the author seems to +be struggling under a burden too great for her strength.</p> + +<p>The early novels then have the advantage of grace, spontaneity, and the +charm exercised by a great writer when the great work is done without +apparent effort. Like a giant wielding a club, George Eliot seems to +execute the heavy tasks imposed by <i>Adam Bede</i> and <i>The Mill on the Floss</i> +with an ease possible only because there is a reserve of strength behind. +But some of these early products of genius, and among them the most +charming of all, could hardly be repeated. Has child-life ever been as +delightfully represented in literature as in the first part of <i>The Mill +on the Floss</i>? But one secret of the charm is that the book, especially in +this part, is autobiographical. Again, in the <i>Scenes of Clerical Life</i> +and in <i>Adam Bede</i> the writer moves easily among characters with whom she +had been familiar from girlhood. The religious enthusiasm of Dinah Morris +is partly a reminiscence of her own early feelings, and partly a picture +of her aunt Elizabeth; while in Adam Bede, as afterwards in Caleb Garth, +may be seen the features of her own father. In those early years George +Eliot skimmed the cream of her experience. Like Scott, she began to write +novels rather late. Her powers were therefore mature, and in her first +books she combines the perfect freshness of a new writer with the weight +and the range of an experienced one.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span>Thoughtfulness and serious purpose were from the start conspicuous in the +writings of George Eliot. It is the overgrowth of these qualities, to the +detriment of the artistic element, that mars her later works. <i>Daniel +Deronda</i> is ruined by its philosophy and its didactic purpose. The style +is ponderous and often clumsy, and the question of heredity is made too +prominent. <i>Middlemarch</i> too shows signs of failure on the part of the +artist. More than almost any other great novel, it sins against the law of +unity. The stories of Dorothea and Casaubon and Ladislaw, of Lydgate and +Rosamond, of the Garths, and of Bulstrode, are tacked together by the most +flimsy external bonds. They all illustrate a single thesis; but it is for +this, and not for their natural connexion, that they are chosen. The +keynote of the whole novel is struck in the prelude; and, as in the case +of the young Saint Theresa and her brother, we see throughout ‘domestic +reality,’ in diverse shapes, meeting the idealist and turning him back +from his great resolve. But even want of unity will be pardoned, provided +the details are conceived and presented in the manner of an artist, as +they are in <i>Middlemarch</i>. Some of George Eliot’s books contain fresher +pictures than we find here, but none contains more that dwell in the mind, +and in none is her maturest thought so well expressed. <i>Middlemarch</i> gives +us one of the rarest things in literature, the philosophy of a powerful +mind presented with all the charm of art. For this reason it at least +rivals the best work of her first period.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Mrs. Henry Wood<br />(1814-1887).<br /> +<br /> +Dinah Maria Craik<br />(1826-1887).</div> + +<p>George Eliot was the last of the race of giants in fiction. Some good +novelists remain to be noticed, but none who can without hesitation be +called great. Those who did respectable work are so numerous that the task +of selection becomes exceedingly difficult; and moreover, as we draw near +the dividing-line, it proves sometimes doubtful<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span> whether a man should be +included in the present period, or viewed as belonging to that still +current. It is safe to say however that of all forms of literature, +fiction is the one in which a rigorous law of selection is the most +necessary. Many popular writers must be passed over in silence. Mrs. Henry +Wood, notwithstanding the success of her <i>East Lynne</i>, can be barely +mentioned; and little more is possible in the case of Dinah Maria Craik, +best known as the author of <i>John Halifax, Gentleman</i>, a pleasing but +somewhat namby-pamby story, ranked by some unaccountably high. Mrs. Craik +never shocks, never startles, nor does she ever invigorate. She is one of +those writers who appeal to the taste of the middle class, not perhaps as +it is now, but as it was a generation ago.</p> + +<p>Three detached novels, by men who cannot be classed as writers of fiction, +may be named for the sake of their authors—<i>Eustace Conway</i> (1834), by F. +D. Maurice, and <i>Loss and Gain</i> (1848) and <i>Callista</i> (1856), by J. H. +Newman. Maurice’s story was written when, a young man, he was still +groping his way; but Newman’s deliberately and when the bent of his mind +had been long taken. His novels are among the symptoms of the passing of +theological interest into general literature, but they have in themselves +no value.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Charles Kingsley<br />(1819-1875).</div> + +<p>Charles Kingsley was also by profession a theologian, and his disastrous +controversy with Newman remains as a proof of the interest he took in the +movement Newman sought to serve by <i>Callista</i>. But fortunately Kingsley +did not allow this interest to dominate his books. Tractarianism is indeed +one of the themes of his earliest novels, <i>Alton Locke</i> (1850) and <i>Yeast</i> +(1848), but socialism, to which his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span> attention had been turned by the +personal influence of Maurice, is a far more prominent one. <i>Yeast</i> +pictures the condition of agricultural labour, <i>Alton Locke</i> that of +labour in crowded cities. Both books are immature, sometimes rash, and on +the whole not well constructed; but they have the merits of vigour, +earnestness and knowledge at first-hand; for Kingsley had personally taken +part in the labour movements in London which resulted in Chartism. +<i>Hypatia</i> (1853) is an ambitious novel, at once historical and +philosophical, impressive in parts, but on the whole heavy. Kingsley, a +man whose physical nature and instincts were quite as well developed as +his intellect, is happiest where he can bring to play the experiences of +his life, and where he can describe scenes familiar to him. About his best +work there is always a breath of the moor, of the fen or of the sea; for +he had lived by them all and had learnt to love them. This is shown by his +verse as well as his prose. His <i>Ode to the North-East Wind</i>, his <i>Sands +of Dee</i>, and the images scattered everywhere through his poems, prove how +the features of the scenery and of the weather had sunk into his mind. So +do such novels as <i>Westward Ho!</i> (1855) and <i>Hereward the Wake</i> (1866). +The former, a historical romance, the scene of which is laid in the time +of Elizabeth, is generally considered Kingsley’s best work; and it is only +a small minority, to which the writer happens to belong, who find it +dreary. The power of some of the descriptions must be acknowledged; but +whether <i>Westward Ho!</i> will live is a question on which there may be +difference of opinion. <i>Hereward the Wake</i>, generally ranked much lower, +is certainly uneven and in parts dull. But it has two great merits: it +reproduces in a marvellous way the impression of the fen country; and, by +vivid flashes, though not constantly, the reader<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span> seems to see before his +eyes the very life of the old vikings.</p> + +<p>Kingsley’s work was most varied. Besides his novels, his professional +work, such as sermons, and his lectures as Professor of History at +Cambridge, we may mention his beautiful fairy-tale, <i>The Water Babies</i> +(1863), with its exquisite snatches of verse, ‘Clear and Cool,’ and ‘When +all the world is young.’ His poetry, if it were as copious as it is often +high in quality, would place him among the great. But it was only +occasional. Besides short pieces, he was the author of a drama, <i>The +Saint’s Tragedy</i> (1848), somewhat immature, and of <i>Andromeda</i> (1858), one +of the few specimens of English hexameters that are readable, and that +seem to naturalise the metre in our language. It is however noticeable +that Kingsley’s success is won at the cost of wholly altering the +character of the measure. <i>Andromeda</i> is true and fine poetry, but its +effect is not that of ‘the long roll of the hexameter.’ There is a very +great preponderance of dactyls. This is the case with almost all English +hexameters; and the fact goes far to prove that the hexameter, as +understood by the ancients, a fairly balanced mixture of dactyls and +spondees, is not suited to the genius of English.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Henry Kingsley<br />(1830-1876).</div> + +<p>Henry Kingsley, the younger brother of Charles, was a novelist likewise, +but one of considerably less merit. He passed some years in Australia, and +his experiences there supplied materials for one of his best stories, +<i>Geoffrey Hamlyn</i>. That by which he is best known is however <i>Ravenshoe</i> +(1862). His novels are extremely loose in construction, and he is no rival +to his brother in that exuberance of spirits which gives to the writings +of the latter their most characteristic excellence.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Anthony Trollope<br />(1815-1882).</div> + +<p>Senior to both the brothers, alike in years and as a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span> writer, was Anthony +Trollope. Coming of a literary family (both his mother and his elder +brother wrote novels), he proved himself, from 1847, when he published +<i>The Macdermotts of Ballycloran</i>, to his death, one of the most prolific +of novelists. No recent writer illustrates better than he the function of +the novel when it is something less than a work of genius. The demand for +amusement is the explanation of the enormous growth of modern fiction. But +pure amusement is inconsistent with either profound thought or tragic +emotion, while, on the other hand, it requires competent literary +workmanship. Anthony Trollope exactly satisfied this demand. He wrote +fluently and fairly well. He drew characters which, if they were never +very profound or subtle, were at any rate tolerably good representations +of human nature. He had a pleasant humour, could tell a story well, and +could, without becoming dull, continue it through any number of volumes +that might be desired. Perhaps no one has ever equalled him at +continuations. What are commonly known as the Barsetshire novels are his +best group. There are some half-dozen stories in the group, yet four of +them, <i>Barchester Towers</i>, <i>Doctor Thorne</i>, <i>Framley Parsonage</i>, and <i>The +Last Chronicle of Barset</i>, extending over a period of ten years +(1857-1867), must all be classed with his best work. Perhaps it was the +touch of the commonplace that made it possible for him thus frequently to +repeat his successes. Trollope’s description of his own methods of work in +his <i>Autobiography</i> shows that he worked himself as a manufacturer works +his steam-engine, and with the same result, so much of a given pattern +produced <i>per diem</i>. His monograph on Thackeray proves him capable of +comparing his methods with the methods of a man of genius, by no means to +the advantage of the latter.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">James Grant<br />(1822-1887).</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span>Among the minor writers a few, typical of different classes, may be +briefly mentioned. James Grant wrote some historical works as well as many +novels well spiced with adventure. His best book is perhaps <i>The Romance +of War</i> (1845). It follows the fortunes of a regiment through the +Peninsula; but while the plan gives it a good groundwork of reality and an +abundance of stirring scenes, it is inartistic. <span class="sidenote">George John Whyte-Melville<br />(1821-1878).</span> George John Whyte-Melville +was similarly fond of adventure, but, though he was a soldier who had seen +service in the Crimea, he is specially identified with sporting rather +than with military novels. His best work is descriptive of fox-hunting, a +sport to which he was passionately devoted. He also wrote historical +novels, of which the best known is <i>The Gladiators</i>. Both of these writers +relied for their effect upon the feeling of interest produced by the +situations in which they placed their characters. <span class="sidenote">Wilkie Collins<br />(1824-1889).</span> So, but in a totally +different way, did Wilkie Collins. He was a master of sensational +narrative. He excelled in the skilful construction and the skilful +unravelling of plot, and in his own domain he is among the best of recent +writers. His best known book is <i>The Woman in White</i>, while perhaps that +which best deserves to be known is <i>The Moonstone</i>. <span class="sidenote">George Alfred Lawrence<br />(1827-1876).</span> In neither is there a +single character worth remembering; the story is everything. The novel of +society, again, is represented by George Alfred Lawrence, the author of +<i>Guy Livingstone</i>, who repeats many of the faults of Bulwer Lytton, and +has not the genius which in Lytton’s case partly redeems the faults.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Charles Reade<br />(1814-1884).</div> + +<p>There remains one man of genius, Charles Reade, who towers over all these +men of talent. Reade was mature in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span> years before he began his literary +career with a group of dramas, of which <i>Gold</i>, acted with moderate +success in 1853, was the best. His easy circumstances as the son of an +Oxfordshire squire, and fellow of Magdalen College, exempted him from the +necessity of pushing his way in the world. In literature he had one great +ambition and one great gift, and unfortunately the two diverged. His +talent lay in prose fiction, while his ambition drew him towards the +stage. It was the advice of an actress that caused him to turn <i>Masks and +Faces</i>, a drama written in collaboration with Tom Taylor, into the prose +story of <i>Peg Woffington</i> (1853), and so to find his true vocation. But he +remained unsatisfied, and through his whole career he continued to make +experiments in the drama, never with much success except in the case of +<i>Drink</i> (1879), founded on Zola’s <i>L’Assommoir</i>. So strong was his +predilection, that he desired that in the inscription on his tombstone the +word ‘dramatist’ should be put first in the specification of his pursuits.</p> + +<p>Those who study Reade can have no difficulty in detecting the cause of his +failure in the drama. He is fertile of incident, but he has not the art of +selecting a few striking scenes rising out of one another and leading +rapidly up to a catastrophe. His copiousness finds room in the freer field +of prose fiction, and his want of skill in selection is less noticeable +there. Accordingly he soon won as a novelist the popularity he never +secured as a playwright. <i>Christie Johnstone</i> (1853), one of his best +stories, was the successor of <i>Peg Woffington</i>, and after <i>It is Never Too +Late to Mend</i> (1856) he took his place as one of the first writers of +fiction of the time.</p> + +<p>Charles Reade was a man of strong individuality, intense in all his +opinions, and bent on making them known.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span> Hence he gives us perhaps the +best examples of the novel with a purpose. Dickens had done much work of +this description, but Reade went beyond him. Many of his novels are +devoted to special questions. Thus <i>It is Never Too Late to Mend</i> deals +with prison administration, <i>Hard Cash</i> with lunatic asylums, and <i>Put +Yourself in his Place</i> with trade-unions. Moreover, Reade was by no means +the man to approach these questions with a few <i>a priori</i> impressions only +in his head. He was thorough, and he made an elaborate study of each +before he wrote about it. Every incident reported in the newspapers, every +trial in the courts of law, every fact wherever recorded, he made it his +business to master. He cared less for theories, at least for the theories +of other people: he made his own, and loved them. But his survey of the +evidence was as nearly exhaustive as it could be. No other writer of +fiction ever left such an apparatus of note-books, newspaper cuttings, +etc., all digested and systematically arranged. It has been commonly held +that Reade’s work was injured by this laborious method; and no doubt the +opinion is in part sound. Yet his merits as well as his defects are +closely related to his method. His variety and his inexhaustible resource +are due to the enormous accumulation of his facts. He loved to illustrate +the saying that truth is stranger than fiction, and he held that no man’s +invention could supply incidents equal to those which patient +investigation would reveal. There is no novelist with respect to whom it +is so dangerous to say, ‘this is unnatural or impossible.’ Probably the +seeming impossibility is a hard fact, disclosed by some forgotten trial or +recorded in some old newspaper.</p> + +<p>While however this backbone of reality gives strength to Reade’s novels, +his devotion to fact sometimes leads him to forget unity and proportion. +The violence of his <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span>convictions was apt to overbalance his judgment. He +is at his best in his calmer and less didactic moods. For this reason <i>The +Cloister and the Hearth</i> (1861) is his masterpiece. In a historical novel, +of which the scene is laid in the fifteenth century and the hero is the +father of Erasmus, there is ample scope for Reade’s love of investigation, +and he has with great skill woven into the narrative the results of wide +reading and patient study. The works of Erasmus are appropriately laid +under contribution. But Reade has here no thesis to defend, no abuse to +attack. The book is consequently better balanced than the novels of the +class already mentioned; and the adventures are diversified with touches +of pathos and with scenes of domestic life in the Dutch home, such as are +hardly to be found elsewhere in Reade’s works. The delineation of +character also is subtler. In many of Reade’s novels the characters are +wholly subordinate to the purpose of the story. It is not Mr. Eden who +interests us in <i>It is Never Too Late to Mend</i>, but rather his theories +and methods.</p> + +<p>There is no rival among Reade’s novels to <i>The Cloister and the Hearth</i>; +but several of them nevertheless are of high quality. <i>Christie +Johnstone</i>, a remarkably clever and successful study of the fisher +population of the east of Scotland, is perhaps the freshest and least +laboured of all his works; and <i>Griffith Gaunt</i>, an analysis of the +workings of the passion of jealousy, is the subtlest as a psychological +study; while <i>It is Never Too Late to Mend</i> stands pretty near the head of +its own class, the novel of purpose. Except the greatest of the writers +already dealt with, and one other, Mr. George Meredith, who belongs rather +to the next period, there was no contemporary writer who could do work +equal to any one of them.</p> + +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> + +<p>We have now traced the course of literature through a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span> period of forty +years, distinguished for their fertility and for the variety of the talent +displayed in them. In the prominence given to history, in the drift of +philosophic speculation, in the prevalence of the novel of purpose, and in +the spirit of the later poetry, we see the influence of social problems +clamouring for solution. The Age of Tennyson has been essentially an age +of reconstruction. It inherited from the preceding generation a gigantic +task, which it has earnestly and laboriously striven to accomplish. What +measure of success has been won is still doubtful; how long the literary +expression of the effort will remain satisfying may be doubtful too. It is +said to-day that we no longer read Carlyle; it may be said to-morrow that +we no longer read Tennyson or Browning either. But there is substance in +the work of all these men, and of all the leaders of the period. If they +are no longer read it is because their thought has penetrated the life of +the time; and we may be sure that they will revive and have a second vogue +when they are old enough to be partly forgotten.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span></p> + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE.</h2> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>1831.</td><td>Disraeli: <i>The Young Duke</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Ebenezer Elliott: <i>Corn Law Rhymes</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Peacock: <i>Crotchet Castle</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Scott: <i>Count Robert of Paris</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Scott: <i>Castle Dangerous</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td>1832.</td><td>John Austin: <i>The Province of Jurisprudence Determined</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>E. L. Bulwer (Lord Lytton): <i>Eugene Aram</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Disraeli: <i>Contarini Fleming</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Samuel Warren: <i>The Diary of a Late Physician</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Bentham died.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Crabbe died.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Scott died.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td>1833.</td><td>Robert Browning: <i>Pauline</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Carlyle: <i>Sartor Resartus</i> (finished 1834).</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Hartley Coleridge: <i>Poems</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Disraeli: <i>The Wondrous Tale of Alroy</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Lamb: <i>Last Essays of Elia</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Lyell: <i>Principles of Geology</i> (completed).</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>J. H. Newman: <i>Arians of the Fourth Century</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Newman and others: <i>Tracts for the Times</i> (begun).</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Tennyson: <i>Poems</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td>1834.</td><td>E. L. Bulwer (Lord Lytton): <i>The Last Days of Pompeii</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Landor: <i>The Citation and Examination of William Shakespeare</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Marryat: <i>Peter Simple</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Marryat: <i>Jacob Faithful</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Henry Taylor: <i>Philip van Artevelde</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>S. T. Coleridge died.</td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span> </td><td>Charles Lamb died.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Malthus died.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td>1835.</td><td>Robert Browning: <i>Paracelsus</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>E. L. Bulwer (Lord Lytton): <i>Rienzi</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Dickens: <i>Sketches by Boz</i> (finished 1836).</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Thirlwall: <i>History of Greece</i> (finished 1847).</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Wordsworth: <i>Yarrow Revisited, and other Poems</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Mrs. Hemans died.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>James Hogg died.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td>1836.</td><td>Dickens: <i>Pickwick</i> (finished 1837).</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Landor: <i>Pericles and Aspasia</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Lockhart: <i>Life of Sir Walter Scott</i> (finished 1838).</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Marryat: <i>Mr. Midshipman Easy</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Marryat: <i>Japhet in Search of a Father</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>W. Godwin died.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>James Mill died.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td>1837.</td><td>Robert Browning: <i>Strafford</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Carlyle: <i>History of the French Revolution</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Dickens: <i>Oliver Twist</i> (finished 1838).</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Disraeli: <i>Henrietta Temple</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Disraeli: <i>Venetia</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Hallam: <i>Literature of Europe</i> (finished 1839).</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Landor: <i>The Pentameron</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Thackeray: <i>The Yellowplush Papers</i> (finished 1838).</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td>1838.</td><td>Thomas Arnold: <i>History of Rome</i> (last volume, 1843).</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>E. Barrett (Browning): <i>The Seraphim</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>E. L. Bulwer (Lord Lytton): <i>The Lady of Lyons</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Dickens: <i>Nicholas Nickleby</i> (finished 1839).</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Maurice: <i>The Kingdom of Christ</i> (enlarged 1842).</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Newman: <i>Lectures on Justification</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td>1839.</td><td>Bailey: <i>Festus</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>E. L. Bulwer (Lord Lytton): <i>Cardinal Richelieu</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Carlyle: <i>Chartism</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Carlyle: <i>Critical and Miscellaneous Essays</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Lever: <i>Harry Lorrequer</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Thackeray: <i>Catherine</i> (finished 1840).</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>John Galt died.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>W. M. Praed died.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span>1840.</td><td>Robert Browning: <i>Sordello</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>E. L. Bulwer (Lord Lytton): <i>Money</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Dickens: <i>The Old Curiosity Shop</i> (finished 1841).</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Frere: <i>Translation of Aristophanes</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Thackeray: <i>The Paris Sketch Book</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Madame D’Arblay died.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td>1841.</td><td>Robert Browning: <i>Pippa Passes</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Carlyle: <i>Heroes and Hero-Worship</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Dickens: <i>Barnaby Rudge</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Lever: <i>Charles O’Malley</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Hugh Miller: <i>The Old Red Sandstone</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Newman: <i>Tract XC</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Thackeray: <i>The Great Hoggarty Diamond</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Warren: <i>Ten Thousand a Year</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td>1842.</td><td>Robert Browning: <i>Dramatic Lyrics</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>E. L. Bulwer (Lord Lytton): <i>Zanoni</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Dickens: <i>American Notes</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Macaulay: <i>Lays of Ancient Rome</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Marryat: <i>Percival Keene</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Henry Taylor: <i>Edwin the Fair</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Tennyson: <i>Poems</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Wilson: <i>The Recreations of Christopher North</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Wordsworth: <i>The Borderers</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Thomas Arnold died.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td>1843.</td><td>Robert Browning: <i>A Blot in the ’Scutcheon</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Carlyle: <i>Past and Present</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Dickens: <i>Martin Chuzzlewit</i> (finished 1844).</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Horne: <i>Orion</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>E. L. Bulwer (Lord Lytton): <i>The Last of the Barons</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Macaulay: <i>Critical and Historical Essays</i> (collected).</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Mill: <i>A System of Logic</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Ruskin: <i>Modern Painters</i> (finished 1860).</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Thackeray: <i>The Irish Sketch Book</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Southey died.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td>1844.</td><td>Barnes: <i>Poems of Rural Life, in the Dorset Dialect</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>E. Barrett (Browning): <i>Poems</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Robert Browning: <i>Colombe’s Birthday</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Disraeli: <i>Coningsby</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span> </td><td>Kinglake: <i>Eothen</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Stanley: <i>Life of Arnold</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Thackeray: <i>Barry Lyndon</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Thomas Campbell died.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td>1845.</td><td>Robert Browning: <i>Dramatic Romances and Lyrics</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Carlyle: <i>Cromwell</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Disraeli: <i>Sybil</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Thomas Hood died.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Sydney Smith died.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td>1846.</td><td>Dickens: <i>Dombey and Son</i> (finished 1848).</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Grote: <i>History of Greece</i> (finished 1856).</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Newman: <i>The Development of Christian Doctrine</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td>1847.</td><td>Charlotte Brontë: <i>Jane Eyre</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Emily Brontë: <i>Wuthering Heights</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Disraeli: <i>Tancred</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Helps: <i>Friends in Council</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Landor: <i>Hellenics</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Tennyson: <i>The Princess</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Thackeray: <i>Vanity Fair</i> (finished 1848).</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Trollope: <i>The Macdermotts of Ballycloran</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td>1848.</td><td>Clough: <i>The Bothie of Tober-na-Vuolich</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Mrs. Gaskell: <i>Mary Barton</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Charles Kingsley: <i>Yeast</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Macaulay: <i>History of England</i>, vols. i. and ii. (last volume, 1860).</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Mill: <i>Political Economy</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Thackeray: <i>The Book of Snobs</i> (reprinted from <i>Punch</i>).</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Emily Brontë died.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Marryat died.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td>1849.</td><td>Matthew Arnold: <i>The Strayed Reveller, and other Poems</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>W. E. Aytoun: <i>Lays of the Scottish Cavaliers</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Charlotte Brontë: <i>Shirley</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Clough: <i>Ambarvalia</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Dickens: <i>David Copperfield</i> (finished 1850).</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Lytton: <i>The Caxtons</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Ruskin: <i>The Seven Lamps of Architecture</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Thackeray: <i>Pendennis</i> (finished 1850).</td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span> </td><td>T. L. Beddoes died.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Hartley Coleridge died.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Maria Edgeworth died.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td>1850.</td><td>Beddoes: <i>Death’s Jest-Book</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>E. B. Browning: <i>Sonnets from the Portuguese</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Robert Browning: <i>Christmas Eve and Easter Day</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Carlyle: <i>Latter-Day Pamphlets</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Dobell: <i>The Roman</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Charles Kingsley: <i>Alton Locke</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>D. G. Rossetti and others: <i>The Germ</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Tennyson: <i>In Memoriam</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Wordsworth: <i>The Prelude</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Francis Jeffrey died.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Wordsworth died.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td>1851.</td><td>E. B. Browning: <i>Casa Guidi Windows</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Carlyle: <i>Life of Sterling</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Ruskin: <i>The Stones of Venice</i> (finished 1853).</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Joanna Baillie died.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td>1852.</td><td>Matthew Arnold: <i>Empedocles on Etna</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Dickens: <i>Bleak House</i> (finished 1853).</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Thackeray: <i>Esmond</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Moore died.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td>1853.</td><td>Matthew Arnold: <i>Poems</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Charlotte Brontë: <i>Villette</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Dobell: <i>Balder</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Mrs. Gaskell: <i>Cranford</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Charles Kingsley: <i>Hypatia</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>W. S. Landor: <i>The Last Fruit off an Old Tree</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Lytton: <i>My Novel</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Charles Reade: <i>Peg Woffington</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Charles Reade: <i>Christie Johnstone</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Alexander Smith: <i>A Life Drama</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Thackeray: <i>The English Humourists of the Eighteenth Century</i> (printed).</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td>1854.</td><td>Hugh Miller: <i>My Schools and Schoolmasters</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Milman: <i>History of Latin Christianity</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Patmore: <i>The Angel in the House</i> (Part I.).</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Thackeray: <i>The Newcomes</i> (finished 1855).</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Susan Ferrier died.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Lockhart died.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>John Wilson died.</td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span> </td></tr> +<tr><td>1855.</td><td>Matthew Arnold: <i>Poems</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Robert Browning: <i>Men and Women</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Mrs. Gaskell: <i>North and South</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Charles Kingsley: <i>Westward Ho!</i></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Lewes: <i>Life of Goethe</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Herbert Spencer: <i>Principles of Psychology</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Tennyson: <i>Maud</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Charlotte Brontë died.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Samuel Rogers died.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td>1856.</td><td>Dobell: <i>England in Time of War</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Froude: <i>History of England</i> (finished 1870).</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Charles Reade: <i>It is Never Too Late to Mend</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Sir W. Hamilton died.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Hugh Miller died.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td>1857.</td><td>E. B. Browning: <i>Aurora Leigh</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Buckle: <i>History of Civilization</i> (vol. ii. in 1861).</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Hugh Miller: <i>The Testimony of the Rocks</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Alexander Smith: <i>City Poems</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Thackeray: <i>The Virginians</i> (finished 1859).</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Trollope: <i>Barchester Towers</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td>1858.</td><td>Carlyle: <i>Frederick the Great</i> (finished 1865).</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>George Eliot: <i>Scenes of Clerical Life</i> (serially, 1857).</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Lytton: <i>What will He do with It?</i></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>William Morris: <i>The Defence of Guenevere</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td>1859.</td><td>Barnes: <i>Hwomely Rhymes</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Darwin: <i>The Origin of Species</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Dickens: <i>A Tale of Two Cities</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>George Eliot: <i>The Mill on the Floss</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Edward FitzGerald: <i>Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>George Meredith: <i>The Ordeal of Richard Feverel</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Mill: <i>Liberty</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Tennyson: <i>Idylls of the King</i> (part).</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>De Quincey died.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Henry Hallam died.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Leigh Hunt died.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Macaulay died.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td>1860.</td><td>George Eliot: <i>The Mill on the Floss</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span> </td><td><i>Essays and Reviews</i> (various authors).</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Swinburne: <i>The Queen Mother</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Swinburne: <i>Rosamond</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Thackeray: <i>The Four Georges</i> (printed).</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Sir W. Napier died.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td>1861.</td><td>Matthew Arnold: <i>On Translating Homer</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>George Eliot: <i>Silas Marner</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Maine: <i>Ancient Law</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>May: <i>Constitutional History of England</i> (finished 1863).</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Mill: <i>Representative Government</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Charles Reade: <i>The Cloister and the Hearth</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>D. G. Rossetti: <i>The Early Italian Poets</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Thackeray: <i>The Adventures of Philip</i> (finished 1862).</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Trollope: <i>Framley Parsonage</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>E. Barrett Browning died.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td>1862.</td><td>Alfred Austin: <i>The Human Tragedy</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Colenso: <i>The Pentateuch and the Book of Joshua Examined</i> (finished 1879).</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>George Meredith: <i>Modern Love, and Poems of the English Roadside, with Poems and Ballads</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Mill: <i>Utilitarianism</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Christina Rossetti: <i>Goblin Market, and other Poems</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Henry Taylor: <i>St. Clement’s Eve</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Buckle died.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td>1863.</td><td>George Eliot: <i>Romola</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Freeman: <i>History of Federal Government</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Kinglake: <i>The Invasion of the Crimea</i> (finished 1887).</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Lyell: <i>The Antiquity of Man</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>George Macdonald: <i>David Elginbrod</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Margaret Oliphant: <i>Chronicles of Carlingford</i> (begun).</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Thackeray died.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Whately died.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td>1864.</td><td>Robert Browning: <i>Dramatis Personæ</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Dickens: <i>Our Mutual Friend</i> (finished 1865).</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Newman: <i>Apologia pro Vita Sua</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Herbert Spencer: <i>Principles of Biology</i> (finished 1867).</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Tennyson: <i>Enoch Arden</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span> </td><td>Landor died.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td>1865.</td><td>Matthew Arnold: <i>Essays in Criticism</i> (collected).</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Lewis Carroll: <i>Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Grote: <i>Plato and the other Companions of Socrates</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Lecky: <i>History of Rationalism</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Lightfoot: <i>St. Paul’s Epistle to the Galatians</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>George Meredith: <i>Rhoda Fleming</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Ruskin: <i>Ethics of the Dust</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Ruskin: <i>Sesame and Lilies</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Seeley: <i>Ecce Homo!</i></td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Swinburne: <i>Atalanta in Calydon</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Swinburne: <i>Chastelard</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Aytoun died.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Mrs. Gaskell died.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td>1866.</td><td>Matthew Arnold: <i>Thyrsis</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Lord de Tabley: <i>Philoctetes</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Mrs. Gaskell: <i>Wives and Daughters</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Charles Kingsley: <i>Hereward the Wake</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Charles Reade: <i>Griffith Gaunt</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Christina Rossetti: <i>The Prince’s Progress, and other Poems</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Ruskin: <i>Crown of Wild Olive</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Swinburne: <i>Poems and Ballads</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Keble died.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Whewell died.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td>1867.</td><td>Matthew Arnold: <i>New Poems</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Bagehot: <i>The English Constitution</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Lord de Tabley: <i>Orestes</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Freeman: <i>History of the Norman Conquest</i> (finished 1876).</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Froude: <i>Short Studies on Great Subjects</i> (last series, 1883).</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>William Morris: <i>The Life and Death of Jason</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Thackeray: <i>Denis Duval</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Trollope: <i>The Last Chronicle of Barset</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Alex. Smith died.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td>1868.</td><td>Robert Browning: <i>The Ring and the Book</i> (finished 1869).</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>George Eliot: <i>The Spanish Gypsy</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span> </td><td>Lightfoot: <i>St. Paul’s Epistle to the Philippians</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>William Morris: <i>The Earthly Paradise</i> (finished 1870).</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Milman died.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td>1869.</td><td>Matthew Arnold: <i>Culture and Anarchy</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Blackmore: <i>Lorna Doone</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Lecky: <i>History of European Morals</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>George Macdonald: <i>Robert Falconer</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Mill: <i>The Subjection of Women</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Tennyson: <i>The Holy Grail, and other Poems</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Wallace: <i>The Malay Archipelago</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td>1870.</td><td>Matthew Arnold: <i>St. Paul and Protestantism</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Dickens: <i>The Mystery of Edwin Drood</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Disraeli: <i>Lothair</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Huxley: <i>Lay Sermons</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Newman: <i>Grammar of Assent</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>D. G. Rossetti: <i>Poems</i>.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td>Dickens died.</td></tr></table> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span></p> + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span></p> +<h2>ALPHABETICAL LIST OF WRITERS.</h2> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>ADAMS, SARAH FLOWER</td><td><span class="spacer"> </span></td><td>1805-1848</td></tr> +<tr><td>AINSWORTH, WILLIAM HARRISON</td><td> </td><td>1805-1882</td></tr> +<tr><td>ALISON, SIR ARCHIBALD</td><td> </td><td>1792-1867</td></tr> +<tr><td>ALLINGHAM, WILLIAM</td><td> </td><td>1824-1889</td></tr> +<tr><td>ARNOLD, MATTHEW</td><td> </td><td>1822-1888</td></tr> +<tr><td>ARNOLD, THOMAS</td><td> </td><td>1795-1842</td></tr> +<tr><td>AUSTIN, JOHN</td><td> </td><td>1790-1859</td></tr> +<tr><td>AYTOUN, WILLIAM EDMONDSTOUNE</td><td> </td><td>1813-1865</td></tr> +<tr><td>BAILEY, PHILIP JAMES</td><td> </td><td>1816-1902</td></tr> +<tr><td>BARHAM, RICHARD HARRIS</td><td> </td><td>1788-1845</td></tr> +<tr><td>BARNES, WILLIAM</td><td> </td><td>1801-1886</td></tr> +<tr><td>BATES, HENRY WALTER</td><td> </td><td>1825-1892</td></tr> +<tr><td>BLACKIE, JOHN STUART</td><td> </td><td>1809-1895</td></tr> +<tr><td>BLANCHARD, SAMUEL LAMAN</td><td> </td><td>1804-1845</td></tr> +<tr><td>BORROW, GEORGE</td><td> </td><td>1803-1881</td></tr> +<tr><td>BOSWORTH, JOSEPH</td><td> </td><td>1789-1876</td></tr> +<tr><td>BRONTË, ANNE</td><td> </td><td>1820-1849</td></tr> +<tr><td>BRONTË, CHARLOTTE</td><td> </td><td>1816-1855</td></tr> +<tr><td>BRONTË, EMILY JANE</td><td> </td><td>1818-1848</td></tr> +<tr><td>BROUGH, ROBERT BARNABAS</td><td> </td><td>1828-1860</td></tr> +<tr><td>BROWN, DR. JOHN</td><td> </td><td>1810-1882</td></tr> +<tr><td>BROWNING, ELIZABETH BARRETT</td><td> </td><td>1806-1861</td></tr> +<tr><td>BROWNING, ROBERT</td><td> </td><td>1812-1889</td></tr> +<tr><td>BUCKLE, HENRY THOMAS</td><td> </td><td>1821-1862</td></tr> +<tr><td>BURTON, JOHN HILL</td><td> </td><td>1809-1881</td></tr> +<tr><td>CAIRNES, JOHN ELLIOT</td><td> </td><td>1823-1875</td></tr> +<tr><td>CALVERLEY, CHARLES STUART</td><td> </td><td>1831-1884</td></tr> +<tr><td>CARLETON, WILLIAM</td><td> </td><td>1794-1869</td></tr> +<tr><td>CARLYLE, THOMAS</td><td> </td><td>1795-1881</td></tr> +<tr><td>CHAMBERS, ROBERT</td><td> </td><td>1802-1871</td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span>CHAMIER, FREDERICK</td><td> </td><td>1796-1870</td></tr> +<tr><td>CLARK, WILLIAM GEORGE</td><td> </td><td>1821-1878</td></tr> +<tr><td>CLARKE, CHARLES COWDEN</td><td> </td><td>1787-1877</td></tr> +<tr><td>CLARKE, MARY COWDEN</td><td> </td><td>1809-1897</td></tr> +<tr><td>CLOUGH, ARTHUR HUGH</td><td> </td><td>1819-1861</td></tr> +<tr><td>COLENSO, JOHN WILLIAM</td><td> </td><td>1814-1883</td></tr> +<tr><td>COLERIDGE, HARTLEY</td><td> </td><td>1796-1849</td></tr> +<tr><td>COLERIDGE, SARA</td><td> </td><td>1802-1852</td></tr> +<tr><td>COLLIER, JOHN PAYNE</td><td> </td><td>1789-1883</td></tr> +<tr><td>COLLINS, MORTIMER</td><td> </td><td>1827-1876</td></tr> +<tr><td>COLLINS, WILLIAM WILKIE</td><td> </td><td>1824-1889</td></tr> +<tr><td>CONINGTON, JOHN</td><td> </td><td>1825-1869</td></tr> +<tr><td>CORY, WILLIAM</td><td> </td><td>1823-1892</td></tr> +<tr><td>CRAIK, DINAH MARIA</td><td> </td><td>1826-1887</td></tr> +<tr><td>CROKER, THOMAS CROFTON</td><td> </td><td>1798-1854</td></tr> +<tr><td>DARWIN, CHARLES ROBERT</td><td> </td><td>1809-1882</td></tr> +<tr><td>DE MORGAN, AUGUSTUS</td><td> </td><td>1806-1871</td></tr> +<tr><td>DE TABLEY, J. B. LEICESTER WARREN, LORD</td><td> </td><td>1835-1895</td></tr> +<tr><td>DE VERE, AUBREY</td><td> </td><td>1814-1902</td></tr> +<tr><td>DICKENS, CHARLES</td><td> </td><td>1812-1870</td></tr> +<tr><td>DISRAELI, BENJAMIN, EARL OF BEACONSFIELD</td><td> </td><td>1804-1881</td></tr> +<tr><td>DOBELL, SYDNEY THOMPSON</td><td> </td><td>1824-1874</td></tr> +<tr><td>DOYLE, SIR FRANCIS HASTINGS</td><td> </td><td>1810-1888</td></tr> +<tr><td>DUFFERIN, HELEN SELINA SHERIDAN, LADY</td><td> </td><td>1807-1867</td></tr> +<tr><td>DYCE, ALEXANDER</td><td> </td><td>1798-1869</td></tr> +<tr><td>ELIOT, GEORGE</td><td> </td><td>1819-1880</td></tr> +<tr><td>FERGUSON, SIR SAMUEL</td><td> </td><td>1810-1886</td></tr> +<tr><td>FERRIER, JAMES FREDERICK</td><td> </td><td>1808-1864</td></tr> +<tr><td>FINLAY, GEORGE</td><td> </td><td>1799-1875</td></tr> +<tr><td>FITZGERALD, EDWARD</td><td> </td><td>1809-1883</td></tr> +<tr><td>FORSTER, JOHN</td><td> </td><td>1812-1876</td></tr> +<tr><td>FROUDE, RICHARD HURRELL</td><td> </td><td>1803-1836</td></tr> +<tr><td>FROUDE, JAMES ANTHONY</td><td> </td><td>1818-1894</td></tr> +<tr><td>GASKELL, ELIZABETH CLEGHORN</td><td> </td><td>1810-1865</td></tr> +<tr><td>GLADSTONE, WILLIAM EWART</td><td> </td><td>1809-1898</td></tr> +<tr><td>GLASCOCK, WILLIAM NUGENT</td><td> </td><td>1787?-1867</td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span>GORDON, ADAM LINDSAY</td><td> </td><td>1833-1870</td></tr> +<tr><td>GRANT, JAMES</td><td> </td><td>1822-1887</td></tr> +<tr><td>GRAY, DAVID</td><td> </td><td>1838-1861</td></tr> +<tr><td>GREENWELL, DORA</td><td> </td><td>1821-1882</td></tr> +<tr><td>GROTE, GEORGE</td><td> </td><td>1794-1871</td></tr> +<tr><td>HALLAM, ARTHUR HENRY</td><td> </td><td>1811-1833</td></tr> +<tr><td>HALLIWELL-PHILLIPPS, JAMES ORCHARD</td><td> </td><td>1820-1889</td></tr> +<tr><td>HAMILTON, SIR WILLIAM</td><td> </td><td>1788-1856</td></tr> +<tr><td>HANNAY, JAMES</td><td> </td><td>1827-1873</td></tr> +<tr><td>HAWKER, ROBERT STEPHEN</td><td> </td><td>1803-1875</td></tr> +<tr><td>HELPS, SIR ARTHUR</td><td> </td><td>1813-1875</td></tr> +<tr><td>HINCKS, EDWARD</td><td> </td><td>1792-1866</td></tr> +<tr><td>HOOD, THOMAS</td><td> </td><td>1799-1845</td></tr> +<tr><td>HOOK, THEODORE EDWARD</td><td> </td><td>1788-1841</td></tr> +<tr><td>HOOK, WALTER FARQUHAR</td><td> </td><td>1798-1875</td></tr> +<tr><td>HORNE, RICHARD HENGIST</td><td> </td><td>1803-1884</td></tr> +<tr><td>INGELOW, JEAN</td><td> </td><td>1820-1897</td></tr> +<tr><td>JAMES, GEORGE PAINE RAINSFORD</td><td> </td><td>1801-1860</td></tr> +<tr><td>JAMESON, ANNA BROWNELL</td><td> </td><td>1794-1860</td></tr> +<tr><td>JERROLD, DOUGLAS WILLIAM</td><td> </td><td>1803-1857</td></tr> +<tr><td>JONES, EBENEZER</td><td> </td><td>1820-1860</td></tr> +<tr><td>JOWETT, BENJAMIN</td><td> </td><td>1817-1893</td></tr> +<tr><td>KAYE, SIR JOHN WILLIAM</td><td> </td><td>1814-1876</td></tr> +<tr><td>KEBLE, JOHN</td><td> </td><td>1792-1866</td></tr> +<tr><td>KINGLAKE, ALEXANDER WILLIAM</td><td> </td><td>1809-1891</td></tr> +<tr><td>KINGSLEY, CHARLES</td><td> </td><td>1819-1875</td></tr> +<tr><td>KINGSLEY, HENRY</td><td> </td><td>1830-1876</td></tr> +<tr><td>LANDON, LETITIA ELIZABETH</td><td> </td><td>1802-1838</td></tr> +<tr><td>LANE, EDWARD WILLIAM</td><td> </td><td>1801-1876</td></tr> +<tr><td>LAWRENCE, GEORGE ALFRED</td><td> </td><td>1827-1876</td></tr> +<tr><td>LAYARD, SIR AUSTEN HENRY</td><td> </td><td>1817-1894</td></tr> +<tr><td>LEAR, EDWARD</td><td> </td><td>1812-1888</td></tr> +<tr><td>LEVER, CHARLES JAMES</td><td> </td><td>1806-1872</td></tr> +<tr><td>LEWES, GEORGE HENRY</td><td> </td><td>1817-1878</td></tr> +<tr><td>LEWIS, SIR GEORGE CORNEWALL</td><td> </td><td>1806-1863</td></tr> +<tr><td>LIVINGSTONE, DAVID</td><td> </td><td>1813-1873</td></tr> +<tr><td>LOCKER-LAMPSON, FREDERICK</td><td> </td><td>1821-1895</td></tr> +<tr><td>LOCKHART, JOHN GIBSON</td><td> </td><td>1794-1854</td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span>LOVER, SAMUEL</td><td> </td><td>1797-1868</td></tr> +<tr><td>LYELL, SIR CHARLES</td><td> </td><td>1797-1875</td></tr> +<tr><td>LYTTON, EDWARD BULWER, LORD</td><td> </td><td>1803-1873</td></tr> +<tr><td>LYTTON, EDWARD ROBERT, LORD</td><td> </td><td>1831-1891</td></tr> +<tr><td>MACAULAY, THOMAS BABINGTON</td><td> </td><td>1800-1859</td></tr> +<tr><td>McCLINTOCK, SIR FRANCIS LEOPOLD</td><td> </td><td>1819-</td></tr> +<tr><td>MADDEN, SIR FREDERICK</td><td> </td><td>1801-1873</td></tr> +<tr><td>MAGINN, WILLIAM</td><td> </td><td>1793-1842</td></tr> +<tr><td>MAHONY, FRANCIS SYLVESTER</td><td> </td><td>1804-1866</td></tr> +<tr><td>MAINE, SIR HENRY JAMES SUMNER</td><td> </td><td>1822-1888</td></tr> +<tr><td>MANGAN, JAMES CLARENCE</td><td> </td><td>1803-1849</td></tr> +<tr><td>MANSEL, HENRY LONGUEVILLE</td><td> </td><td>1820-1871</td></tr> +<tr><td>MARRYAT, FREDERICK</td><td> </td><td>1792-1848</td></tr> +<tr><td>MARSTON, JOHN WESTLAND</td><td> </td><td>1819-1890</td></tr> +<tr><td>MARTINEAU, HARRIET</td><td> </td><td>1802-1876</td></tr> +<tr><td>MASSEY, GERALD</td><td> </td><td>1828-1907</td></tr> +<tr><td>MAURICE, JOHN FREDERICK DENISON</td><td> </td><td>1805-1872</td></tr> +<tr><td>MAXWELL, WILLIAM HAMILTON</td><td> </td><td>1792-1850</td></tr> +<tr><td>MERIVALE, CHARLES</td><td> </td><td>1808-1893</td></tr> +<tr><td>MILL, JOHN STUART</td><td> </td><td>1806-1873</td></tr> +<tr><td>MILLER, HUGH</td><td> </td><td>1802-1856</td></tr> +<tr><td>MILMAN, HENRY HART</td><td> </td><td>1791-1868</td></tr> +<tr><td>MILNES, RICHARD MONCKTON, LORD HOUGHTON</td><td> </td><td>1809-1885</td></tr> +<tr><td>MORRIS, WILLIAM</td><td> </td><td>1834-1896</td></tr> +<tr><td>MOTHERWELL, WILLIAM</td><td> </td><td>1797-1835</td></tr> +<tr><td>MUNRO, HUGH ANDREW JOHNSTONE</td><td> </td><td>1819-1885</td></tr> +<tr><td>NEALE, JOHN MASON</td><td> </td><td>1818-1866</td></tr> +<tr><td>NEWMAN, FRANCIS WILLIAM</td><td> </td><td>1805-1897</td></tr> +<tr><td>NEWMAN, JOHN HENRY</td><td> </td><td>1801-1890</td></tr> +<tr><td>NORTON, HON. MRS.</td><td> </td><td>1808-1877</td></tr> +<tr><td>OUTRAM, GEORGE</td><td> </td><td>1805-1856</td></tr> +<tr><td>OWEN, SIR RICHARD</td><td> </td><td>1804-1892</td></tr> +<tr><td>PALGRAVE, SIR FRANCIS</td><td> </td><td>1788-1861</td></tr> +<tr><td>PATMORE, COVENTRY</td><td> </td><td>1823-1896</td></tr> +<tr><td>PATTISON, MARK</td><td> </td><td>1813-1884</td></tr> +<tr><td>PLANCHÉ, JAMES ROBINSON</td><td> </td><td>1796-1880</td></tr> +<tr><td>PRAED, WINTHROP MACKWORTH</td><td> </td><td>1802-1839</td></tr> +<tr><td>PROCTER, ADELAIDE ANNE</td><td> </td><td>1825-1864</td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span>PUSEY, EDWARD BOUVERIE</td><td> </td><td>1800-1882</td></tr> +<tr><td>RANDS, WILLIAM BRIGHTY</td><td> </td><td>1823-1882</td></tr> +<tr><td>RAWLINSON, SIR HENRY CRESWICKE</td><td> </td><td>1810-1895</td></tr> +<tr><td>READE, CHARLES</td><td> </td><td>1814-1884</td></tr> +<tr><td>REYNOLDS, JOHN HAMILTON</td><td> </td><td>1796-1852</td></tr> +<tr><td>ROBERTSON, FREDERICK WILLIAM</td><td> </td><td>1816-1853</td></tr> +<tr><td>ROSCOE, WILLIAM CALDWELL</td><td> </td><td>1823-1859</td></tr> +<tr><td>ROSSETTI, CHRISTINA GEORGINA</td><td> </td><td>1830-1894</td></tr> +<tr><td>ROSSETTI, DANTE GABRIEL</td><td> </td><td>1828-1882</td></tr> +<tr><td>RUSKIN, JOHN</td><td> </td><td>1819-1900</td></tr> +<tr><td>SCOTT, MICHAEL</td><td> </td><td>1789-1835</td></tr> +<tr><td>SCOTT, WILLIAM BELL</td><td> </td><td>1811-1890</td></tr> +<tr><td>SENIOR, NASSAU W.</td><td> </td><td>1790-1864</td></tr> +<tr><td>SMEDLEY, MENELLA BUTE</td><td> </td><td>1820-1877</td></tr> +<tr><td>SMITH, ALEXANDER</td><td> </td><td>1829-1867</td></tr> +<tr><td>SPENCER, HERBERT</td><td> </td><td>1820-1903</td></tr> +<tr><td>STANHOPE, PHILIP HENRY, EARL</td><td> </td><td>1805-1875</td></tr> +<tr><td>STANLEY, ARTHUR PENRHYN</td><td> </td><td>1815-1881</td></tr> +<tr><td>STERLING, JOHN</td><td> </td><td>1806-1844</td></tr> +<tr><td>STIRLING-MAXWELL, SIR WILLIAM</td><td> </td><td>1818-1878</td></tr> +<tr><td>STRICKLAND, AGNES</td><td> </td><td>1806-1874</td></tr> +<tr><td>TALFOURD, SIR THOMAS NOON</td><td> </td><td>1795-1854</td></tr> +<tr><td>TAYLOR, SIR HENRY</td><td> </td><td>1800-1886</td></tr> +<tr><td>TAYLOR, TOM</td><td> </td><td>1817-1880</td></tr> +<tr><td>TENNYSON, ALFRED, LORD</td><td> </td><td>1809-1892</td></tr> +<tr><td>THACKERAY, WILLIAM MAKEPEACE</td><td> </td><td>1811-1863</td></tr> +<tr><td>THIRLWALL, CONNOP</td><td> </td><td>1797-1875</td></tr> +<tr><td>THOM, WILLIAM</td><td> </td><td>1798-1848</td></tr> +<tr><td>THORNBURY, GEORGE WALTER</td><td> </td><td>1828-1876</td></tr> +<tr><td>TRENCH, RICHARD CHENEVIX</td><td> </td><td>1807-1886</td></tr> +<tr><td>TROLLOPE, ANTHONY</td><td> </td><td>1815-1882</td></tr> +<tr><td>TUPPER, MARTIN FARQUHAR</td><td> </td><td>1810-1889</td></tr> +<tr><td>TURNER, CHARLES TENNYSON</td><td> </td><td>1808-1879</td></tr> +<tr><td>WADE, THOMAS</td><td> </td><td>1805-1875</td></tr> +<tr><td>WALLACE, ALFRED RUSSEL</td><td> </td><td>1822-</td></tr> +<tr><td>WARD, WILLIAM GEORGE</td><td> </td><td>1812-1882</td></tr> +<tr><td>WARREN, SAMUEL</td><td> </td><td>1807-1877</td></tr> +<tr><td>WHATELY, RICHARD</td><td> </td><td>1787-1863</td></tr> +<tr><td>WHITEHEAD, CHARLES</td><td> </td><td>1804-1862</td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span>WHEWELL, WILLIAM</td><td> </td><td>1794-1866</td></tr> +<tr><td>WHYTE-MELVILLE, GEORGE JOHN</td><td> </td><td>1821-1878</td></tr> +<tr><td>WILBERFORCE, SAMUEL</td><td> </td><td>1805-1873</td></tr> +<tr><td>WOOD, MRS. HENRY</td><td> </td><td>1814-1887</td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span></p> +<h2>INDEX.</h2> + + +<p class="index"> +<i>Adam Bede</i>, <a href="#Page_264">264</a>, <a href="#Page_267">267</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Adams, Sarah Flower, <a href="#Page_256">256</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Advent Sunday</i>, <a href="#Page_244">244</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Adventures of Philip, The</i>, <a href="#Page_93">93</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Agamemnon</i>, <a href="#Page_237">237</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Age of Queen Anne, The</i>, <a href="#Page_141">141</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Agnes Grey</i>, <a href="#Page_102">102</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Ainsworth, W. H., <a href="#Page_71">71</a>;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Scott’s criticism on, <a href="#Page_77">77-78</a>.</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>Alfred Hagart’s Household</i>, <a href="#Page_249">249</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Alison, Sir Archibald, <a href="#Page_140">140</a>, <a href="#Page_141">141</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Allingham, William, <a href="#Page_256">256</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>All the Year Round</i>, <a href="#Page_85">85</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Alton Locke</i>, <a href="#Page_3">3</a>, <a href="#Page_269">269</a>, <a href="#Page_270">270</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>American Iliad in a Nutshell, The</i>, <a href="#Page_21">21</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>American Notes</i>, <a href="#Page_84">84</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Amours de Voyage</i>, <a href="#Page_220">220</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Ancient Law</i>, <a href="#Page_134">134-135</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Andrea del Sarto</i>, <a href="#Page_231">231</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Andromeda</i>, <a href="#Page_271">271</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Angel in the House, The</i>, <a href="#Page_251">251</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Annals of the Parish</i>, <a href="#Page_161">161</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Annuity, The</i>, <a href="#Page_61">61</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Antiquity of Man, The</i>, <a href="#Page_178">178</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Apologia pro Vita Sua</i>, <a href="#Page_9">9</a>, <a href="#Page_146">146</a>, <a href="#Page_148">148</a>, <a href="#Page_149">149</a>, <a href="#Page_153">153</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Aratra Pentelici</i>, <a href="#Page_196">196</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Archbishops of Canterbury, Lives of the</i>, <a href="#Page_141">141-142</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Arethusa, The</i>, <a href="#Page_80">80</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Ariadne Florentina</i>, <a href="#Page_196">196</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Arians of the Fourth Century, The</i>, <a href="#Page_147">147</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Aristophanes’ Apology</i>, <a href="#Page_232">232</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Arnold, Matthew, <a href="#Page_40">40</a>, <a href="#Page_69">69</a>, <a href="#Page_122">122</a>, <a href="#Page_191">191</a>, <a href="#Page_192">192</a>;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">his prose, <a href="#Page_203">203-209</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and French literature, <a href="#Page_205">205-206</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">on Gambetta, <a href="#Page_205">205</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">on the classics, <a href="#Page_205">205</a>, <a href="#Page_206">206</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and Carlyle, <a href="#Page_205">205</a>, <a href="#Page_206">206-207</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">his theological writings, <a href="#Page_208">208-209</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">his poetry, <a href="#Page_214">214-219</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">its critical aspect, <a href="#Page_214">214-215</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">his elegiacs, <a href="#Page_216">216</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and Wordsworth, <a href="#Page_216">216-217</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">his dramatic poems, <a href="#Page_217">217-218</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">his narrative poems, <a href="#Page_218">218</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#Page_244">244</a>.</span><br /> +<br /> +Arnold, Thomas, <a href="#Page_17">17</a>, <a href="#Page_120">120</a>, <a href="#Page_121">121-123</a>, <a href="#Page_140">140</a>, <a href="#Page_157">157-158</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Arnold, Life of Thomas</i>, <a href="#Page_139">139</a>, <a href="#Page_140">140</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Artists of Spain, Annals of the</i>, <a href="#Page_142">142</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Art of England, The</i>, <a href="#Page_196">196</a>,<br /> +<br /> +‘As I laye a-thynkynge,’ <a href="#Page_59">59</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Asolando</i>, <a href="#Page_232">232</a>, <a href="#Page_233">233</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Atalanta in Calydon</i>, <a href="#Page_253">253</a>, <a href="#Page_254">254</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Athens, its Rise and Fall</i>, <a href="#Page_71">71</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Auguste Comte and Positivism</i>, <a href="#Page_162">162</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Aurora Leigh</i>, <a href="#Page_234">234</a>, <a href="#Page_235">235</a>.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span><br /> +Austin, Charles, <a href="#Page_111">111</a>, <a href="#Page_160">160</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Austin, John, <a href="#Page_160">160-161</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Autobiography of J. S. Mill</i>, <a href="#Page_135">135</a>, <a href="#Page_162">162</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Autobiography of Anthony Trollope</i>, <a href="#Page_272">272</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Aylmer’s Field</i>, <a href="#Page_224">224</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Aytoun, W. E., <a href="#Page_246">246</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +Bailey, Philip James, <a href="#Page_52">52</a>, <a href="#Page_63">63-64</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Baillie, Joanna, <a href="#Page_46">46</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Balaustion’s Adventure</i>, <a href="#Page_232">232</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Balder</i>, <a href="#Page_247">247-248</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Balder Dead</i>, <a href="#Page_217">217</a>, <a href="#Page_218">218</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Ballad of Bouillabaisse, The</i>, <a href="#Page_97">97</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Ballad of Harlaw</i>, Scott’s, <a href="#Page_119">119</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Ballads and Sonnets</i>, <a href="#Page_241">241</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Ballads of Policeman X, The</i>, <a href="#Page_91">91</a>, <a href="#Page_94">94</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Barchester Towers</i>, <a href="#Page_272">272</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Barham, R. H., <a href="#Page_58">58</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Barnaby Rudge</i>, <a href="#Page_87">87</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Barnes, William, <a href="#Page_65">65-66</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Barry Lyndon</i>, <a href="#Page_91">91</a>, <a href="#Page_97">97</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Bates, H. W., <a href="#Page_189">189</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Battle of Naseby</i>, <a href="#Page_119">119</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Becket</i>, <a href="#Page_74">74</a>, <a href="#Page_226">226-227</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Bells and Pomegranates</i>, <a href="#Page_7">7</a>, <a href="#Page_45">45</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Ben Brace</i>, <a href="#Page_80">80</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Bentham, Jeremy, <a href="#Page_160">160</a>, <a href="#Page_162">162-163</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Bertha in the Lane</i>, <a href="#Page_236">236</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Bible in Spain, The</i>, <a href="#Page_212">212</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Biographical History of Philosophy, A</i>, <a href="#Page_169">169</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Bishop Blougram</i>, <a href="#Page_231">231</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Blackie, John Stuart, <a href="#Page_256">256</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Blanchard, Laman, <a href="#Page_57">57</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Blessed Damozel, The</i>, <a href="#Page_241">241</a>, <a href="#Page_243">243</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Blind Boy’s Pranks, The</i>, <a href="#Page_61">61</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Bob Burke’s Duel with Ensign Brady</i>, <a href="#Page_70">70</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Bon Gaultier Ballads</i>, <a href="#Page_246">246</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Book Hunter, The</i>, <a href="#Page_141">141</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Book of Snobs, The</i>, <a href="#Page_91">91</a>, <a href="#Page_95">95</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Borrow, George, <a href="#Page_212">212</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Bosworth, Joseph, <a href="#Page_211">211</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Bothie of Tober-na-Vuolich, The</i>, <a href="#Page_220">220</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Bridge of Sighs, The</i>, <a href="#Page_56">56</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Brontë, Anne, <a href="#Page_100">100</a>, <a href="#Page_102">102</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Brontë, Charlotte, <a href="#Page_100">100-102,</a> <a href="#Page_103">103-106</a>;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and Thackeray, <a href="#Page_105">105</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and Mrs. Gaskell, <a href="#Page_106">106</a>, <a href="#Page_107">107</a>.</span><br /> +<br /> +Brontë, Emily Jane, <a href="#Page_100">100</a>, <a href="#Page_101">101</a>, <a href="#Page_102">102-103</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Brontë, Life of Charlotte</i>, <a href="#Page_106">106</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Brough, R. B., <a href="#Page_257">257</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Brown, Dr. John, <a href="#Page_210">210</a>, <a href="#Page_244">244</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Browning, E. B., <a href="#Page_44">44</a>, <a href="#Page_119">119</a>, <a href="#Page_233">233-236</a>, <a href="#Page_242">242</a>;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and Christina Rossetti, <a href="#Page_245">245</a>.</span><br /> +<br /> +Browning Robert, <a href="#Page_11">11</a>, <a href="#Page_43">43-51</a>;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">life, <a href="#Page_43">43-44</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">his relation to contemporaries, <a href="#Page_44">44-45</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and Shelley, <a href="#Page_45">45</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">his dramatic experiments, <a href="#Page_46">46-48</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">his dramatic monologues, <a href="#Page_48">48-50</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and Carlyle, <a href="#Page_50">50-51</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#Page_220">220</a>, <a href="#Page_228">228-233</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and religious controversy, <a href="#Page_228">228-229</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">his self-revelation, <a href="#Page_230">230</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">his love-poems, <a href="#Page_230">230-231</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">his closing period, <a href="#Page_231">231-233</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#Page_244">244</a>.</span><br /> +<br /> +Buckle, Henry Thomas, <a href="#Page_110">110</a>, <a href="#Page_133">133-134</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Budget of Paradoxes, A</i>, <a href="#Page_176">176</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Burns, Robert, <a href="#Page_239">239</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Burton, John Hill, <a href="#Page_141">141</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Byron, Lord, <a href="#Page_1">1</a>, <a href="#Page_36">36</a>, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>, <a href="#Page_46">46</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<i>Cadyow Castle</i>, <a href="#Page_119">119</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Cairnes, J. E., <a href="#Page_165">165</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Calderon, <a href="#Page_237">237</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Callista</i>, <a href="#Page_269">269</a>.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span><br /> +Calverley, C. S. <a href="#Page_257">257</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Cardinal Richelieu</i>, <a href="#Page_74">74</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Carleton, William, <a href="#Page_98">98-99</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Carlyle, Thomas, <a href="#Page_12">12-35</a>;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">his life, <a href="#Page_12">12-16</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">his relation to contemporaries, <a href="#Page_16">16-18</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and Mill, <a href="#Page_17">17</a>, <a href="#Page_18">18</a>, <a href="#Page_24">24</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">unity of his work, <a href="#Page_18">18</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">on Burns, <a href="#Page_19">19</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">on Scott, <a href="#Page_19">19</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">on Goethe, <a href="#Page_20">20</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">his choice of historical subjects, <a href="#Page_20">20-22</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and German thought, <a href="#Page_23">23</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">his treatment of facts, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">of social and political problems, <a href="#Page_30">30-33</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and Fletcher of Saltoun, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">his critical writings, <a href="#Page_33">33-34</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">his style, <a href="#Page_34">34-35</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and Browning, <a href="#Page_50">50-51</a>; <a href="#Page_72">72</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#Page_118">118</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and Macaulay, <a href="#Page_119">119-120</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#Page_205">205</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and Matthew Arnold, <a href="#Page_206">206-207</a>.</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>Carlyle, Life of Thomas</i>, <a href="#Page_135">135</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Carmina Crucis</i>, <a href="#Page_259">259</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Casa Guidi Windows</i>, <a href="#Page_234">234</a>, <a href="#Page_235">235</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Cavaliers and Roundheads</i>, <a href="#Page_210">210</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Cavalier Song</i>, <a href="#Page_61">61</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Caxtons, The</i>, <a href="#Page_73">73</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Cenci, The</i>, <a href="#Page_46">46</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Chaldee Manuscript, The</i>, <a href="#Page_136">136</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Chambers, Robert, <a href="#Page_180">180-181</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Chamier, F., <a href="#Page_80">80</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Characteristics of Shakespeare’s Women</i>, <a href="#Page_193">193</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Charles O’Malley</span>, <a href="#Page_99">99</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Chartism</i>, <a href="#Page_15">15</a>, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Child’s Grave at Florence, A</i>, <a href="#Page_234">234</a>, <a href="#Page_235">235</a>, <a href="#Page_236">236</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Christianity under the Empire, History of</i>, <a href="#Page_126">126-127</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Christian Socialism, <a href="#Page_157">157</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Christie Johnstone</i>, <a href="#Page_274">274</a>, <a href="#Page_276">276</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Christmas Eve and Easter Day</i>, <a href="#Page_220">220</a>, <a href="#Page_228">228</a><br /> +<br /> +<i>Chronicle of the Drum, The</i>, <a href="#Page_97">97</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Church of Brou, The</i>, <a href="#Page_217">217</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>City Poems</i>, <a href="#Page_250">250</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Claims of the Bible and of Science, The</i>, <a href="#Page_157">157</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Clark, W. G., <a href="#Page_193">193</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Clarke, C. Cowden, <a href="#Page_193">193</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Clarke, M. Cowden, <a href="#Page_193">193</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Cloister Life of Charles V., The</i>, <a href="#Page_142">142</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Clough, A. H., <a href="#Page_158">158</a>, <a href="#Page_219">219-220</a>, <a href="#Page_244">244</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Clytemnestra</i>, <a href="#Page_252">252</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Codlingsby</i>, <a href="#Page_94">94</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Colenso, J. W., <a href="#Page_159">159</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Coleridge, Hartley, <a href="#Page_59">59-60</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Coleridge, Henry Nelson, <a href="#Page_61">61</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Coleridge, S. T., <a href="#Page_156">156</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Coleridge, Sara, <a href="#Page_61">61</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Collier, J. P., <a href="#Page_192">192-193</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Collins, Mortimer, <a href="#Page_257">257</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Collins, Wilkie, <a href="#Page_273">273</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Colman, George, <a href="#Page_83">83</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Columbus</i>, <a href="#Page_225">225</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Comic Annual, Hood’s</i>, <a href="#Page_55">55</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Coming Race, The</i>, <a href="#Page_74">74</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Comte, <a href="#Page_168">168</a>, <a href="#Page_169">169</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Comte’s Philosophy of the Sciences</i>, <a href="#Page_169">169</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Concordance to Shakespeare</i>, <a href="#Page_193">193</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Congal</i>, <a href="#Page_258">258</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Coningsby</i>, <a href="#Page_75">75</a>, <a href="#Page_76">76</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Conington, John, <a href="#Page_211">211</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Contarini Fleming</i>, <a href="#Page_75">75</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Cooper, Fenimore, <a href="#Page_80">80</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Cornhill Magazine, The</i>, <a href="#Page_93">93</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Cornish Ballads</i>, <a href="#Page_259">259</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Corn Law Rhymes</i>, <a href="#Page_3">3</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Cory, William, <a href="#Page_257">257</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Cosmo de’ Medici</i>, <a href="#Page_64">64</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Craik, Dinah Maria, <a href="#Page_269">269</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span><i>Cranford</i>, <a href="#Page_107">107</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Critical and Historical Essays</i> (Macaulay’s), <a href="#Page_114">114</a>, <a href="#Page_118">118</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Criticism, Journalistic, <a href="#Page_191">191-192</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Croker, Crofton, <a href="#Page_70">70</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Cromwell</i>, <a href="#Page_15">15</a>, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Cruise of the Midge, The</i>, <a href="#Page_80">80</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Cry of the Children, The</i>, <a href="#Page_3">3</a>, <a href="#Page_236">236</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<i>Daniel Deronda</i>, <a href="#Page_262">262</a>, <a href="#Page_264">264</a>, <a href="#Page_266">266</a>, <a href="#Page_268">268</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Dante and his Circle</i>, <a href="#Page_241">241</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Dante Gabriel Rossetti</i> (Sharp’s), <a href="#Page_241">241</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Darwin, Charles, <a href="#Page_170">170</a>, <a href="#Page_172">172</a>, <a href="#Page_177">177</a>, <a href="#Page_178">178</a>, <a href="#Page_180">180</a>, <a href="#Page_181">181-189</a>;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and A. R. Wallace, <a href="#Page_183">183</a>, <a href="#Page_186">186</a>, <a href="#Page_189">189</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#Page_198">198</a>.</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>David Copperfield</i>, <a href="#Page_82">82</a>, <a href="#Page_85">85</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Death-Bed, The</i>, <a href="#Page_56">56</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Death in the Desert, A</i>, <a href="#Page_229">229</a>, <a href="#Page_230">230</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Death of Marlowe, The</i>, <a href="#Page_64">64</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Death of Œnone, The</i>, <a href="#Page_227">227</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Deerbrook</i>, <a href="#Page_168">168</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Defence of Guenevere, The</i>, <a href="#Page_255">255</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Defence of Lucknow, The</i>, <a href="#Page_221">221</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Demeter</i>, <a href="#Page_227">227</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Democratic Movement, The, <a href="#Page_2">2-5</a>.<br /> +<br /> +De Morgan, A., <a href="#Page_176">176</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Denis Duval</i>, <a href="#Page_93">93</a>.<br /> +<br /> +De Quincey, <a href="#Page_153">153</a>, <a href="#Page_199">199</a>, <a href="#Page_200">200</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Descent of Man, The</i>, <a href="#Page_186">186</a>.<br /> +<br /><a name="tabley" id="tabley"></a> +De Tabley, Lord, <a href="#Page_253">253-254</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Development of Christian Doctrine, The</i>, <a href="#Page_148">148</a>.<br /> +<br /> +De Vere, Aubrey, <a href="#Page_261">261</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Diamond Necklace, The</i>, <a href="#Page_14">14</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Diary of a late Physician, The</i>, <a href="#Page_81">81</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Dickens, Charles, <a href="#Page_69">69</a>, <a href="#Page_82">82-90</a>;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">his life, <a href="#Page_82">82-85</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and George Colman, <a href="#Page_83">83</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">his public readings, <a href="#Page_85">85</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">his characters, <a href="#Page_86">86-88</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">his humour and pathos, <a href="#Page_88">88-89</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#Page_262">262</a>.</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>Dickens, Life of</i>, <a href="#Page_141">141</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Dipsychus</i>, <a href="#Page_220">220</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Discourses in America</i>, <a href="#Page_203">203</a>, <a href="#Page_204">204</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Discussions on Philosophy and Literature</i>, <a href="#Page_167">167</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Disraeli, Benjamin, Earl of Beaconsfield, <a href="#Page_71">71</a>, <a href="#Page_75">75-78</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Dobell, Sydney, <a href="#Page_247">247-249</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Doctor Thorne</i>, <a href="#Page_272">272</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Doctrine of Sacrifice, The</i>, <a href="#Page_157">157</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Don John of Austria</i>, <a href="#Page_142">142</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Dover Beach</i>, <a href="#Page_217">217</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Doyle, Sir F. H., <a href="#Page_258">258</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Dramatic Lyrics</i>, <a href="#Page_45">45</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Dramatic Romances</i>, <a href="#Page_45">45</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Dramatis Personæ</i>, <a href="#Page_49">49</a>, <a href="#Page_229">229</a>, <a href="#Page_231">231</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Dream of Fair Women, A</i>, <a href="#Page_40">40</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Dream of Gerontius, The</i>, <a href="#Page_148">148</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Dreamthorp</i>, <a href="#Page_249">249</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Drink</i>, <a href="#Page_274">274</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Duchess de la Vallière, The</i>, <a href="#Page_74">74</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Dufferin, Lady, <a href="#Page_260">260</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Dyce, Alexander, <a href="#Page_193">193</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<i>Eagle’s Nest, The</i>, <a href="#Page_196">196</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Early History of Institutions, The</i>, <a href="#Page_135">135</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Early Italian Poets, The</i>, <a href="#Page_241">241</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Earthly Paradise, The</i>, <a href="#Page_255">255</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Easter Day, Naples</i>, <a href="#Page_219">219</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Eastern Church, Lectures on the</i>, <a href="#Page_140">140</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>East Lynne</i>, <a href="#Page_269">269</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Edwin of Deira</i>, <a href="#Page_250">250</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Edwin the Fair</i>, <a href="#Page_62">62</a>.<br /> +<br /><a name="eliot" id="eliot"></a> +Eliot, George, and Mrs. Gaskell, <a href="#Page_108">108</a>;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#Page_262">262-268</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and G. H. Lewes, <a href="#Page_263">263-264</a>;</span><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Edmond Scherer on, <a href="#Page_265">265</a>.</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>Eliot, Life of Sir John</i>, <a href="#Page_141">141</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Emma</i>, <a href="#Page_103">103</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Empedocles on Etna</i>, <a href="#Page_214">214</a>, <a href="#Page_217">217</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>End of the Play, The</i>, <a href="#Page_98">98</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>England, History of</i> (Froude’s), <a href="#Page_128">128-130</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>England, History of</i> (Macaulay’s), <a href="#Page_116">116-119</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>England, History of</i> (Stanhope’s), <a href="#Page_142">142</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>England in Time of War</i>, <a href="#Page_247">247</a>, <a href="#Page_249">249</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>English Commonwealth, Rise and Progress of the</i>, <a href="#Page_142">142</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>English Dramatic Poetry, History of</i>, <a href="#Page_192">192</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>English Humourists of the Eighteenth Century, The</i>, <a href="#Page_92">92</a>, <a href="#Page_114">114</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>English Idylls</i>, <a href="#Page_224">224</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>English in Ireland in the Eighteenth Century, The</i>, <a href="#Page_130">130-131</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>English Past and Present</i>, <a href="#Page_211">211</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Enquiry into the Credibility of Early Roman History, An</i>, <a href="#Page_169">169</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Enid</i>, <a href="#Page_224">224</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Eothen</i>, <a href="#Page_132">132</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Epilogue to Lessing’s Laocoön</i>, <a href="#Page_204">204</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Epistles to the Corinthians, Commentary on the</i>, <a href="#Page_140">140</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Erasmus</i>, <a href="#Page_131">131</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Erskine, Thomas, of Linlathen, <a href="#Page_156">156</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Esmond</i>, <a href="#Page_87">87</a>, <a href="#Page_91">91</a>, <a href="#Page_92">92</a>, <a href="#Page_95">95-96</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Essay on Mind</i>, <a href="#Page_234">234</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Essays and Reviews</i>, <a href="#Page_124">124</a>, <a href="#Page_158">158-159</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Essays in Criticism</i>, <a href="#Page_204">204</a>, <a href="#Page_205">205</a>, <a href="#Page_207">207</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Essence of Christianity, The</i>, <a href="#Page_263">263</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Etonian, The</i>, <a href="#Page_57">57</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Eugene Aram</i>, <a href="#Page_72">72</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Eugene Aram’s Dream</i>, <a href="#Page_55">55</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Euphranor</i>, <a href="#Page_237">237</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Europe during the French Revolution, History of</i>, <a href="#Page_141">141</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Evans, Mary Ann. <i>See</i> <a href="#eliot">Eliot, George</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Evening Dream, An</i>, <a href="#Page_249">249</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Examination of Sir William Hamilton’s Philosophy, An</i>, <a href="#Page_162">162</a>, <a href="#Page_164">164</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Expansion of England, The</i>, <a href="#Page_131">131</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Expression of the Emotions in Man and Animals, The</i>, <a href="#Page_187">187</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<i>Fairy Legends and Traditions of the South of Ireland</i>, <a href="#Page_70">70</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Falcon, The</i>, <a href="#Page_227">227</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Falkland</i>, <a href="#Page_71">71-72</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Felix Holt</i>, <a href="#Page_264">264</a>, <a href="#Page_266">266</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Ferguson, Sir Samuel, <a href="#Page_258">258</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Ferishtah’s Fancies</i>, <a href="#Page_232">232</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Ferrier, J. F., <a href="#Page_167">167-168</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Fertilisation of Orchids, The</i>, <a href="#Page_185">185</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Fifine at the Fair</i>, <a href="#Page_232">232</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Finlay, George, <a href="#Page_127">127</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Firmilian</i>, <a href="#Page_246">246</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>First Principles</i>, <a href="#Page_172">172</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Fitzgerald, Edward, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>, <a href="#Page_236">236-239</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Fleshly School of Poetry, The</i>, <a href="#Page_241">241</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Fletcher, Andrew, of Saltoun, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Fly Leaves</i>, <a href="#Page_257">257</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Footprints of the Creator</i>, <a href="#Page_179">179</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Foresters, The</i>, <a href="#Page_227">227</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Forsaken Merman, The</i>, <a href="#Page_217">217</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Fors Clavigera</i>, <a href="#Page_201">201</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Forster, John</i>, <a href="#Page_85">85</a>, <a href="#Page_141">141</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Four Georges, The</i>, <a href="#Page_92">92</a>, <a href="#Page_93">93</a>, <a href="#Page_94">94</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Fra Lippo Lippi</i>, <a href="#Page_231">231</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Framley Parsonage</i>, <a href="#Page_272">272</a>.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span><br /> +Fraser, Hugh, <a href="#Page_70">70</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Fraser’s Magazine</i>, <a href="#Page_69">69-70</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Frederick the Great</i>, <a href="#Page_15">15</a>, <a href="#Page_16">16</a>, <a href="#Page_28">28-30</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Freeman, E. A., <a href="#Page_117">117</a>, <a href="#Page_130">130</a>.<br /> +<br /> +French Revolution, The, <a href="#Page_1">1-2</a>, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>French Revolution, History of the</i>, <a href="#Page_14">14</a>, <a href="#Page_15">15</a>, <a href="#Page_26">26-28</a>, <a href="#Page_29">29</a>, <a href="#Page_84">84</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Friends in Council</i>, <a href="#Page_194">194</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Froude, Hurrell, <a href="#Page_145">145</a>, <a href="#Page_147">147</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Froude, J. A., <a href="#Page_127">127-132</a>;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and Freeman, <a href="#Page_130">130</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">on Carlyle, <a href="#Page_131">131</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#Page_146">146</a>, <a href="#Page_152">152</a>.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +Galt, John, <a href="#Page_161">161</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Garnett, Dr. Richard, quoted, <a href="#Page_248">248</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Gaskell, E. C., <a href="#Page_106">106-108</a>;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">George Sand on, <a href="#Page_107">107</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and Charlotte Brontë, <a href="#Page_106">106</a>, <a href="#Page_107">107</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and George Eliot, <a href="#Page_108">108</a>.</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>Geoffrey Hamlyn</i>, <a href="#Page_271">271</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Germ, The</i>, <a href="#Page_240">240</a>, <a href="#Page_244">244</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>German Romance</i>, <a href="#Page_13">13</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Gipsies in Spain, The</i>, <a href="#Page_212">212</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Gladiators, The</i>, <a href="#Page_273">273</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Gladstone, W. E., <a href="#Page_211">211</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Glascock, W. N., <a href="#Page_80">80</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Glasgow</i>, <a href="#Page_250">250</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Goblin Market</i>, <a href="#Page_244">244</a>, <a href="#Page_246">246</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Goethe, Life of</i>, <a href="#Page_169">169</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Gold</i>, <a href="#Page_274">274</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Goldsmith, Life of</i>, <a href="#Page_141">141</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Gordon, A. L., <a href="#Page_258">258</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Grammar of Assent, Essay in Aid of a</i>, <a href="#Page_148">148</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Grandmother, The</i>, <a href="#Page_225">225</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Grant, James, <a href="#Page_273">273</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Gray, David, <a href="#Page_258">258</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Great Hoggarty Diamond, The</i>, <a href="#Page_91">91</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Greece, History of</i> (Finlay’s), <a href="#Page_127">127</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Greece, History of</i> (Grote’s), <a href="#Page_125">125-126</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Greece, History of</i> (Thirlwall’s), <a href="#Page_124">124</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Greenwell, Dora, <a href="#Page_259">259</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Gregory VII.</i>, <a href="#Page_64">64</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Griffith Gaunt</i>, <a href="#Page_276">276</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Grote, George, <a href="#Page_122">122</a>, <a href="#Page_125">125-126</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Gulliver’s Travels</i>, <a href="#Page_98">98</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Guy Livingstone</i>, <a href="#Page_273">273</a>.<br /> + +<br /> +<br /> +Hallam, A. H., <a href="#Page_38">38</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Halliwell-Phillipps, J. O., <a href="#Page_193">193</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Hamilton, Sir William, <a href="#Page_167">167</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Hamilton, Sir W. Rowan, <a href="#Page_176">176</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Hand and Soul</i>, <a href="#Page_241">241</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Handy Andy</i>, <a href="#Page_99">99</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Hannay, James, <a href="#Page_80">80-81</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Hard Cash</i>, <a href="#Page_275">275</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Harold</i>, <a href="#Page_226">226</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Harry Lorrequer</i>, <a href="#Page_99">99</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Haunted House, The</i>, <a href="#Page_56">56</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Hawker, R. S., <a href="#Page_259">259</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Helps, Sir Arthur, <a href="#Page_194">194</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Hemans, Felicia, <a href="#Page_52">52</a>, <a href="#Page_53">53</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Henrietta Temple</i>, <a href="#Page_76">76</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Henry Holbeach</i>, <a href="#Page_210">210</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Hereward the Wake</i>, <a href="#Page_270">270</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Heroes and Hero-Worship</i>, <a href="#Page_15">15</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Hincks, Edward, <a href="#Page_212">212</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Holy Grail, The</i>, <a href="#Page_224">224</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Hood’s Magazine</i>, <a href="#Page_56">56</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Hood, Thomas, <a href="#Page_54">54-56</a>;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and Praed, <a href="#Page_57">57-58</a>.</span><br /> +<br /> +Hook, Theodore, <a href="#Page_70">70</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Hook, W. F., <a href="#Page_141">141-142</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Horace, <a href="#Page_238">238</a>, <a href="#Page_239">239</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Horæ Subsecivæ</i>, <a href="#Page_210">210</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Horne, R. H., <a href="#Page_64">64-65</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Horton</i>, <a href="#Page_250">250</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Household Words</i>, <a href="#Page_85">85</a>.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span><br /> +Howells, Mr. W. D., quoted, <a href="#Page_241">241</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Huxley, Thomas, <a href="#Page_180">180</a>, <a href="#Page_184">184</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Hymn to Astarte</i>, <a href="#Page_254">254</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Hypatia</i>, <a href="#Page_270">270</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<i>Ideal of a Christian Church, The</i>, <a href="#Page_146">146</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Idylls of the King</i>, <a href="#Page_222">222-224</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>In a Balcony</i>, <a href="#Page_45">45</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>In a Gondola</i>, <a href="#Page_49">49</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Inductive Sciences, History of the</i>, <a href="#Page_166">166</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Inductive Sciences, Philosophy of The</i>, <a href="#Page_166">166</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Influence of Authority in Matters of Opinion, The</i>, <a href="#Page_170">170</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Ingelow, Jean, <a href="#Page_259">259</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Ingoldsby Legends, The</i>, <a href="#Page_58">58</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>In Memoriam</i>, <a href="#Page_38">38</a>, <a href="#Page_39">39</a>, <a href="#Page_220">220-221</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Inn Album, The</i>, <a href="#Page_232">232</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Inquiry Concerning the Origin of Christianity</i>, <a href="#Page_263">263</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Insectivorous Plants</i>, <a href="#Page_187">187</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Invasion of the Crimea, The</i>, <a href="#Page_132">132-133</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Ionica</i>, <a href="#Page_257">257</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Irish Sketch Book, The</i>, <a href="#Page_91">91</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Isaac Comnenus</i>, <a href="#Page_62">62</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Is it all Vanity?</i>, <a href="#Page_75">75</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Ismail and other Poems</i>, <a href="#Page_71">71</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>It is Never Too Late to Mend</i>, <a href="#Page_274">274</a>, <a href="#Page_275">275</a>, <a href="#Page_276">276</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<i>Jael</i>, <a href="#Page_254">254</a>.<br /> +<br /> +James, G. P. R., <a href="#Page_71">71</a>, <a href="#Page_78">78-79</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>James Lee’s Wife</i>, <a href="#Page_230">230</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Jameson, Anna, <a href="#Page_193">193</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Jane Eyre</i>, <a href="#Page_100">100</a>, <a href="#Page_102">102</a>, <a href="#Page_103">103</a>, <a href="#Page_104">104</a>, <a href="#Page_137">137</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Jeanie Morison</i>, <a href="#Page_61">61</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Jerrold, Douglas, <a href="#Page_47">47</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Jewish Church, Lectures on the</i>, <a href="#Page_140">140</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Jews, History of the</i>, <a href="#Page_126">126</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>John Halifax, Gentleman</i>, <a href="#Page_269">269</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Jones, Ebenezer, <a href="#Page_66">66-67</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Jowett, Benjamin, <a href="#Page_158">158</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Julius Cæsar</i>, <a href="#Page_131">131</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Jurisprudence, Lectures on</i>, <a href="#Page_161">161</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Justification, Lectures on</i>, <a href="#Page_147">147</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Juventus Mundi</i>, <a href="#Page_211">211</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<i>Karshish</i>, <a href="#Page_229">229</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Kaye, Sir J. W., <a href="#Page_142">142</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Keble, John, <a href="#Page_144">144-145</a>, <a href="#Page_147">147</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Keith of Ravelston</i>, <a href="#Page_249">249</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Kenelm Chillingly</i>, <a href="#Page_73">73</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>King Arthur</i>, <a href="#Page_74">74</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Kingdom of Christ, The</i>, <a href="#Page_157">157</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Kinglake, A. W., <a href="#Page_132">132-133</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Kingsley, Charles, <a href="#Page_155">155</a>, <a href="#Page_157">157</a>, <a href="#Page_262">262</a>, <a href="#Page_269">269-271</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Kingsley, Henry, <a href="#Page_271">271</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>King’s Tragedy, The</i>, <a href="#Page_241">241</a>, <a href="#Page_243">243</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Knight’s Quarterly Magazine</i>, <a href="#Page_57">57</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Knowles, James Sheridan, <a href="#Page_46">46</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<i>Lady Geraldine’s Courtship</i>, <a href="#Page_234">234</a>, <a href="#Page_236">236</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Lady of Lyons, The</i>, <a href="#Page_74">74</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Lady of Shalott, The</i>, <a href="#Page_222">222</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Lamarck, <a href="#Page_188">188</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Lancaster, William, pseudonym for Lord de Tabley, <i>q. v.</i><br /> +<br /> +Landon, L. E., <a href="#Page_52">52</a>, <a href="#Page_53">53</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Landor, Life of</i>, <a href="#Page_141">141</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Lane, E. W., <a href="#Page_212">212</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>La Saisiaz</i>, <a href="#Page_228">228</a>, <a href="#Page_229">229</a>, <a href="#Page_232">232</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Last Confession, A</i>, <a href="#Page_242">242</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Last Chronicle of Barset, The</i>, <a href="#Page_272">272</a>.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span><br /> +<i>Last Days of Pompeii, The</i>, <a href="#Page_72">72</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Last Essays on Church and Religion</i>, <a href="#Page_203">203</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Last of the Barons, The</i>, <a href="#Page_72">72</a>, <a href="#Page_73">73</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Last Tournament, The</i>, <a href="#Page_224">224</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Latin Christianity, History of</i>, <a href="#Page_127">127</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Latter-Day Pamphlets</i>, <a href="#Page_15">15</a>, <a href="#Page_16">16</a>, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Lavengro</i>, <a href="#Page_212">212</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Lawrence, G. A., <a href="#Page_273">273</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Layard, Sir A. H., <a href="#Page_211">211</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Lay of Elena, The</i>, <a href="#Page_63">63</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Lay of the Brown Rosary, The</i>, <a href="#Page_236">236</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Lays of Ancient Rome</i>, <a href="#Page_119">119</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Lays of the Scottish Cavaliers</i>, <a href="#Page_58">58</a>, <a href="#Page_246">246</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Lear, Edward, <a href="#Page_259">259</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Legendary and Historic Ballads</i>, <a href="#Page_261">261</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Legend of Jubal, The</i>, <a href="#Page_264">264</a>, <a href="#Page_265">265</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Legends of the Madonna</i>, <a href="#Page_193">193</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Legends of the Monastic Orders</i>, <a href="#Page_193">193</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Letters of Matthew Arnold</i>, <a href="#Page_40">40</a>, <a href="#Page_122">122</a>, <a href="#Page_205">205</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Letters to a Young Friend</i>, <a href="#Page_124">124</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Lever, Charles James, <a href="#Page_99">99-100</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Lewes, George Henry, <a href="#Page_169">169</a>;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and George Eliot, <a href="#Page_263">263-264</a>.</span><br /> +<br /> +Lewis, Sir George Cornewall, <a href="#Page_120">120</a>, <a href="#Page_169">169-170</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Liberty</i>, <a href="#Page_161">161</a>, <a href="#Page_165">165</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Life and Death of Jason, The</i>, <a href="#Page_255">255</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Life Drama, A</i>, <a href="#Page_249">249-250</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Life of Jesus, The</i>, <a href="#Page_263">263</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Lilliput Levée</i>, <a href="#Page_210">210</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Limits of Religious Thought, The</i>, <a href="#Page_168">168</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Livingstone, David, <a href="#Page_212">212</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Locker-Lampson, F., <a href="#Page_57">57</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Lockhart, J. G., <a href="#Page_39">39</a>, <a href="#Page_136">136-139</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Locksley Hall</i>, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>, <a href="#Page_226">226</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Locksley Hall Sixty Years After</i>, <a href="#Page_226">226</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>London Magazine</i>, <a href="#Page_55">55</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Lord of Burleigh, The</i>, <a href="#Page_236">236</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Loss and Gain</i>, <a href="#Page_269">269</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Lost Days</i>, <a href="#Page_243">243</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Lost Mistress, The</i>, <a href="#Page_49">49</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Lothair</i>, <a href="#Page_76">76</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Lotos-Eaters, The</i>, <a href="#Page_40">40</a>, <a href="#Page_225">225</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Lovel the Widower</i>, <a href="#Page_91">91</a>, <a href="#Page_93">93</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Lover, Samuel, <a href="#Page_99">99</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Love’s Meinie</i>, <a href="#Page_196">196</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Lucile</i>, <a href="#Page_253">253</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Lucretius</i>, <a href="#Page_224">224</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Luggie, The</i>, <a href="#Page_258">258</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Luria</i>, <a href="#Page_45">45</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Lycus the Centaur</i>, <a href="#Page_55">55</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Lyell, Sir Charles, <a href="#Page_177">177-178</a>;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and Darwin, <a href="#Page_178">178</a>.</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>Lyra Apostolica</i>, <a href="#Page_147">147</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Lytton, Edward Bulwer, first Lord, <a href="#Page_47">47</a>, <a href="#Page_71">71-75</a>;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and Byron, <a href="#Page_72">72</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and Charles Reade, <a href="#Page_73">73</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#Page_252">252</a>.</span><br /> +<br /><a name="lytton" id="lytton"></a> +Lytton, Edward Robert, Earl of (‘Owen Meredith’), <a href="#Page_75">75</a>, <a href="#Page_252">252-253</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +Macaulay, T. B., <a href="#Page_111">111-120</a>;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">his life, <a href="#Page_111">111-114</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and Charles Austin, <a href="#Page_111">111</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and Carlyle, <a href="#Page_119">119-120</a>.</span><br /> +<br /> +McClintock, <a href="#Page_212">212</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Macdermotts of Ballycloran, The</i>, <a href="#Page_272">272</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Madden, Sir F., <a href="#Page_211">211</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span>Maginn, William, <a href="#Page_70">70</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Magyar’s New-Year-Eve, The</i>, <a href="#Page_249">249</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Mahony, Francis, <a href="#Page_70">70</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Maine, Sir Henry, <a href="#Page_134">134-135</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Malay Archipelago, The</i>, <a href="#Page_190">190</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Malthus, <a href="#Page_1">1</a>, <a href="#Page_165">165</a>, <a href="#Page_183">183</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Mangan, James Clarence, <a href="#Page_66">66</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Manners and Customs of the Modern Egyptians, Account of the</i>, <a href="#Page_212">212</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Mansel, H. L., <a href="#Page_168">168</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Marah</i>, <a href="#Page_252">252</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Marryat, Frederick, <a href="#Page_71">71</a>, <a href="#Page_79">79-80</a>;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and Smollett, <a href="#Page_80">80</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and Fenimore Cooper, <a href="#Page_80">80</a>.</span><br /> +<br /> +Marston, J. Westland, <a href="#Page_47">47</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Martin Chuzzlewit</i>, <a href="#Page_84">84</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Martin, Sir Theodore, <a href="#Page_246">246</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Martineau, Harriet, <a href="#Page_168">168</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Mary Barton</i>, <a href="#Page_106">106</a>, <a href="#Page_107">107</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Masks and Faces</i>, <a href="#Page_274">274</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Massey, Gerald, <a href="#Page_259">259</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Maud</i>, <a href="#Page_221">221</a>, <a href="#Page_222">222</a>, <a href="#Page_230">230</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Maurice, J. F. D., <a href="#Page_155">155-157</a>, <a href="#Page_161">161</a>, <a href="#Page_269">269</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Maxwell, W. H., <a href="#Page_99">99</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Mehrab Khan</i>, <a href="#Page_258">258</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Melbourne, Lord, <a href="#Page_123">123</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Men and Women</i>, <a href="#Page_45">45</a>, <a href="#Page_49">49</a>, <a href="#Page_229">229</a>, <a href="#Page_231">231</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Meredith, Owen. <i>See</i> <a href="#lytton">Lytton, Edward Robert, Earl of</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Merivale, Charles, <a href="#Page_127">127</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Merope</i>, <a href="#Page_217">217</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Metaphysics and Logic, Lectures on</i>, <a href="#Page_167">167</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Middlemarch</i>, <a href="#Page_264">264</a>, <a href="#Page_266">266</a>, <a href="#Page_267">267</a>, <a href="#Page_268">268</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Mill, James, <a href="#Page_160">160</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Mill, John Stuart, <a href="#Page_17">17</a>, <a href="#Page_18">18</a>, <a href="#Page_24">24</a>, <a href="#Page_156">156</a>, <a href="#Page_160">160</a>, <a href="#Page_161">161-166</a>, <a href="#Page_167">167</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Mill on the Floss, The</i>, <a href="#Page_264">264</a>, <a href="#Page_267">267</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Miller, Hugh, <a href="#Page_178">178-179</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Milman, H. H., <a href="#Page_126">126-127</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Milnes, Richard Monckton, Lord Houghton, <a href="#Page_58">58</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Mimnermus in Church</i>, <a href="#Page_257">257</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Miss Kilmansegg</i>, <a href="#Page_55">55</a>, <a href="#Page_56">56</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Mr. Minns and his Cousin</i>, <a href="#Page_83">83</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Mitford, William, <a href="#Page_125">125</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Mixed Essays</i>, <a href="#Page_204">204</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Modern Painters</i>, <a href="#Page_194">194-195</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Mommsen, Dr. Theodor, <a href="#Page_122">122</a>, <a href="#Page_123">123</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Monna Innominata</i>, <a href="#Page_245">245</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Moonstone, The</i>, <a href="#Page_273">273</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Moral and Metaphysical Philosophy</i>, <a href="#Page_157">157</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Mornings in Florence</i>, <a href="#Page_196">196</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Morris, William, <a href="#Page_255">255-256</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Morte d’Arthur</i>, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>, <a href="#Page_43">43</a>, <a href="#Page_222">222</a>, <a href="#Page_224">224</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Motherwell, William, <a href="#Page_61">61</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Movements and Habits of Climbing Plants, The</i>, <a href="#Page_185">185</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Mundi et Cordis Carmina</i>, <a href="#Page_66">66</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Munro, H. A. J., <a href="#Page_211">211</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Mycerinus</i>, <a href="#Page_215">215</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>My Last Duchess</i>, <a href="#Page_231">231</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>My Novel</i>, <a href="#Page_73">73</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>My Schools and Schoolmasters</i>, <a href="#Page_179">179</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>My Sister’s Sleep</i>, <a href="#Page_241">241</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<i>National Apostasy</i>, <a href="#Page_145">145</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Naturalist on the Amazons, The</i>, <a href="#Page_189">189</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Naturalist’s Voyage round the World, A</i>, <a href="#Page_181">181</a>, <a href="#Page_182">182</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Neale, John Mason, <a href="#Page_127">127</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Nemesis of Faith, The</i>, <a href="#Page_128">128</a>, <a href="#Page_152">152</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Newcomes, The</i>, <a href="#Page_90">90</a>, <a href="#Page_91">91</a>, <a href="#Page_97">97</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Newman, F. W., <a href="#Page_146">146</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Newman, J. H., <a href="#Page_17">17</a>, <a href="#Page_146">146-153</a>, <a href="#Page_154">154</a>, <a href="#Page_156">156</a>, <a href="#Page_269">269</a>.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span><br /> +<i>New Poems</i>, <a href="#Page_214">214</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Nicholas Nickleby</i>, <a href="#Page_84">84</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Niebuhr, <a href="#Page_120">120</a>, <a href="#Page_123">123</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Nigger Question, The</i>, <a href="#Page_15">15</a>, <a href="#Page_21">21</a>, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Noctes Ambrosianæ</i>, <a href="#Page_80">80</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Nonsense Rhymes</i>, <a href="#Page_259">259</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>North and South</i>, <a href="#Page_107">107</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Northern Cobbler, The</i>, <a href="#Page_225">225</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Northern Farmer, The</i>, <a href="#Page_225">225</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Norton, the Hon. Mrs., <a href="#Page_260">260</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Notes and Emendations to the Plays of Shakespeare</i>, <a href="#Page_193">193</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Novum Organum Renovatum</i>, <a href="#Page_166">166</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<i>Obermann Once More</i>, <a href="#Page_215">215</a>, <a href="#Page_216">216</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Oceana</i>, <a href="#Page_131">131</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Ode on the Death of the Duke of Wellington</i>, <a href="#Page_221">221-222</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Odes and Addresses to Great People</i>, <a href="#Page_55">55</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Ode to the North-East Wind</i>, <a href="#Page_270">270</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Old Red Sandstone, The</i>, <a href="#Page_179">179</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Oliver Twist</i>, <a href="#Page_84">84</a>.<br /> +<br /> +‘O lyric love,’ <a href="#Page_230">230</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Omar Khayyám, <a href="#Page_237">237</a>, <a href="#Page_238">238-239</a>;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and Horace, <a href="#Page_238">238-239</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and Burns, <a href="#Page_239">239</a>.</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>One Word More</i>, <a href="#Page_230">230</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Orestes</i>, <a href="#Page_253">253</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Origin of Species, The</i>, <a href="#Page_178">178</a>, <a href="#Page_180">180</a>, <a href="#Page_181">181</a>, <a href="#Page_182">182-185</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Our Dogs</i>, <a href="#Page_210">210</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Our Mutual Friend</i>, <a href="#Page_90">90</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Outram, George, <a href="#Page_61">61</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Owen, Sir Richard, <a href="#Page_180">180</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Oxford Movement, The, <a href="#Page_9">9</a>, <a href="#Page_144">144</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<i>Pageant, A</i>, <a href="#Page_244">244</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Palace of Art, The</i>, <a href="#Page_40">40</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Palgrave, Sir Francis, <a href="#Page_142">142</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Paracelsus</i>, <a href="#Page_7">7</a>, <a href="#Page_44">44</a>, <a href="#Page_45">45</a>, <a href="#Page_50">50</a>, <a href="#Page_248">248</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Paris Sketch-Book, The</i>, <a href="#Page_91">91</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Parleyings with certain People of Importance</i>, <a href="#Page_232">232</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Passing of Arthur, The</i>, <a href="#Page_222">222</a>, <a href="#Page_224">224</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Past and Present</i>, <a href="#Page_15">15</a>, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>, <a href="#Page_31">31</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Patmore, Coventry, <a href="#Page_251">251-252</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Paton, Sir J. Noel, <a href="#Page_240">240</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Pattison, Mark, <a href="#Page_158">158</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Pauline</i>, <a href="#Page_44">44</a>, <a href="#Page_45">45</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Peg Woffington</i>, <a href="#Page_274">274</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Pelham</i>, <a href="#Page_72">72</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Pendennis</i>, <a href="#Page_91">91</a>, <a href="#Page_97">97</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Periodicals, <a href="#Page_5">5-6</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Phantasmion</i>, <a href="#Page_61">61</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Phases of Faith</i>, <a href="#Page_146">146</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Phil Fogarty</i>, <a href="#Page_94">94</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Philip van Artevelde</i>, <a href="#Page_36">36</a>, <a href="#Page_62">62-63</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Philoctetes</i>, <a href="#Page_253">253</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Philosophy of the Conditioned, The</i>, <a href="#Page_168">168</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Physiology of Common Life, The</i>, <a href="#Page_169">169</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Pickwick</i>, <a href="#Page_84">84</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Pippa Passes</i>, <a href="#Page_46">46</a>, <a href="#Page_50">50</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Planché, James R., <a href="#Page_47">47</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Plato and the other Companions of Socrates</i>, <a href="#Page_125">125</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Plea of the Midsummer Fairies, The</i>, <a href="#Page_55">55</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Pleasures of England, The</i>, <a href="#Page_196">196</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Poems</i>, by C. E. and A. Bell, <a href="#Page_101">101</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Poems</i> (1833, by Tennyson), <a href="#Page_39">39</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Poems</i> (1842, by Tennyson), <a href="#Page_39">39</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Poems and Ballads</i>, <a href="#Page_254">254</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Poems by Two Brothers</i>, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>, <a href="#Page_38">38</a>, <a href="#Page_53">53</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Poems, chiefly Lyrical</i>, <a href="#Page_38">38</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Poems Dramatic and Lyrical</i>, <a href="#Page_253">253-254</a>.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span><br /> +<i>Poems, Legendary and Historical</i>, <a href="#Page_58">58</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Political Economy</i> (Mill’s), <a href="#Page_161">161</a>, <a href="#Page_164">164</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Pope, The</i>, <a href="#Page_229">229</a>, <a href="#Page_230">230</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Popular Government</i>, <a href="#Page_135">135</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Praed, W. M., <a href="#Page_54">54</a>, <a href="#Page_57">57-58</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Praeterita</i>, <a href="#Page_253">253</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Pre-Raphaelites, The, <a href="#Page_10">10</a>, <a href="#Page_213">213</a>, <a href="#Page_240">240</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Pre-Raphaelitism</i>, <a href="#Page_195">195</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau</i>, <a href="#Page_232">232</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Prince’s Progress, The</i>, <a href="#Page_244">244</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Princess, The</i>, <a href="#Page_39">39</a>, <a href="#Page_42">42-43</a>, <a href="#Page_221">221</a>, <a href="#Page_224">224</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Principles of Biology</i>, <a href="#Page_172">172</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Principles of Ethics</i>, <a href="#Page_173">173</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Principles of Geology</i>, <a href="#Page_177">177-178</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Principles of Psychology</i>, <a href="#Page_172">172</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Principles of Sociology</i>, <a href="#Page_172">172</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Principles of Taste</i>, <a href="#Page_140">140</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Private of the Buffs, The</i>, <a href="#Page_258">258</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Problems of Life and Mind</i>, <a href="#Page_169">169</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Procter, Adelaide Anne, <a href="#Page_260">260</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Professor, The</i>, <a href="#Page_101">101</a>, <a href="#Page_103">103</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Prolegomena Logica</i>, <a href="#Page_168">168</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Prometheus Unbound</i>, <a href="#Page_46">46</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Promise of May, The</i>, <a href="#Page_227">227</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Prophetical Office of the Church, The</i>, <a href="#Page_147">147</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Proverbial Philosophy</i>, <a href="#Page_64">64</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Province of Jurisprudence Determined, The</i>, <a href="#Page_161">161</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Pusey, E. B., <a href="#Page_153">153-155</a>;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pius IX. on, <a href="#Page_154">154</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#Page_156">156</a>.</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>Put Yourself in his Place</i>, <a href="#Page_275">275</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<i>Qua Cursum Ventus</i>, <a href="#Page_219">219</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Queen Mary</i>, <a href="#Page_226">226</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Queens of England, Lives of the</i>, <a href="#Page_142">142</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Queens of Scotland, Lives of the</i>, <a href="#Page_142">142</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Quest of the Sangraal, The</i>, <a href="#Page_259">259</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<i>Rab and his Friends</i>, <a href="#Page_210">210</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Rabbi Ben Ezra</i>, <a href="#Page_229">229</a>, <a href="#Page_230">230</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Rands, W. B.</i>, <a href="#Page_210">210</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Ranke’s History of the Popes</i>, Macaulay’s essay on, <a href="#Page_115">115</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Ravenshoe</i>, <a href="#Page_271">271</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Rawlinson, Sir H. C., <a href="#Page_211">211-212</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Reade, Charles, <a href="#Page_73">73</a>, <a href="#Page_262">262</a>, <a href="#Page_273">273-276</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Rebecca and Rowena</i>, <a href="#Page_94">94</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Red Fisherman, The</i>, <a href="#Page_58">58</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Red Thread of Honour, The</i>, <a href="#Page_258">258</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Rehearsals</i>, <a href="#Page_253">253</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Reign of Queen Anne, History of the</i>, <a href="#Page_142">142</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Reliques of Father Prout</i>, <a href="#Page_70">70</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Reminiscences</i>, by Carlyle, <a href="#Page_16">16</a>, <a href="#Page_20">20</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Rephan</i>, <a href="#Page_233">233</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Representative Government, Considerations on</i>, <a href="#Page_162">162</a>, <a href="#Page_165">165</a>, <a href="#Page_166">166</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Resignation</i>, <a href="#Page_215">215</a>, <a href="#Page_217">217</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Revenge, The</i>, <a href="#Page_221">221</a>, <a href="#Page_225">225</a>, <a href="#Page_260">260</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Reynolds, John Hamilton, <a href="#Page_55">55</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Rhyme of the Duchess May, The</i>, <a href="#Page_236">236</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Ring and the Book, The</i>, <a href="#Page_45">45</a>, <a href="#Page_49">49</a>, <a href="#Page_50">50</a>, <a href="#Page_229">229-230</a>, <a href="#Page_231">231</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Rizpah</i>, <a href="#Page_226">226</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Robertson, F. W., <a href="#Page_155">155</a>, <a href="#Page_157">157</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Roman, The</i>, <a href="#Page_247">247</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Romance of War, The</i>, <a href="#Page_273">273</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Romans under the Empire, History of the</i>, <a href="#Page_127">127</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Romany Rye, The</i>, <a href="#Page_212">212</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Romaunt of Margret, The</i>, <a href="#Page_236">236</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Rome, History of</i>, <a href="#Page_122">122-123</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Romola</i>, <a href="#Page_264">264</a>, <a href="#Page_266">266</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span>Roscoe, William Caldwell, <a href="#Page_260">260</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Rose Mary</i>, <a href="#Page_243">243</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Rossetti, Christina, <a href="#Page_234">234</a>, <a href="#Page_242">242</a>, <a href="#Page_244">244-246</a>;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and Mrs. Browning, <a href="#Page_245">245</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and D. G. Rossetti, <a href="#Page_245">245</a>.</span><br /> +<br /> +Rossetti, D. G., <a href="#Page_240">240-244</a>;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">his sensuousness, <a href="#Page_241">241-242</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">his treatment of nature, <a href="#Page_243">243</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">his ballads, <a href="#Page_243">243</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and Christina Rossetti, <a href="#Page_245">245</a>.</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>Roundabout Papers</i>, <a href="#Page_93">93</a>, <a href="#Page_97">97</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Rubáiyát</i> of Omar Khayyám, <a href="#Page_237">237</a>, <a href="#Page_238">238-239</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Rugby Chapel</i>, <a href="#Page_216">216</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Ruskin, John, <a href="#Page_153">153</a>, <a href="#Page_194">194-202</a>;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">his art criticism, <a href="#Page_196">196-199</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">his style, <a href="#Page_199">199-200</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">his social theories, <a href="#Page_200">200-202</a>.</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>Ruth</i>, <a href="#Page_56">56</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<i>Sacred and Legendary Art</i>, <a href="#Page_193">193</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>St. Clement’s Eve</i>, <a href="#Page_62">62</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Ste. Beuve, <a href="#Page_192">192</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>St. Mark’s Rest</i>, <a href="#Page_196">196</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>St. Paul and Protestantism</i>, <a href="#Page_203">203</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Saint’s Tragedy, The</i>, <a href="#Page_271">271</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Salámán and Absál</i>, <a href="#Page_237">237</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Sand, George, quoted, <a href="#Page_107">107</a>;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#Page_253">253</a>.</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>Sands of Dee, The</i>, <a href="#Page_270">270</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Sartor Resartus</i>, <a href="#Page_12">12</a>, <a href="#Page_13">13</a>, <a href="#Page_15">15</a>, <a href="#Page_19">19</a>, <a href="#Page_23">23-26</a>, <a href="#Page_34">34</a>, <a href="#Page_35">35</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Scenes of Clerical Life</i>, <a href="#Page_262">262</a>, <a href="#Page_264">264</a>, <a href="#Page_266">266</a>, <a href="#Page_267">267</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Scherer, Edmond, on George Eliot, <a href="#Page_265">265</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Schiller, Life of</i>, <a href="#Page_13">13</a>, <a href="#Page_22">22</a>, <a href="#Page_34">34</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Schleiermacher, <a href="#Page_123">123</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Scholar Gipsy, The</i>, <a href="#Page_215">215</a>, <a href="#Page_216">216</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Science and literature, <a href="#Page_8">8-9</a>;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">influence of science on the method of history, <a href="#Page_110">110</a>.</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>Scot Abroad, The</i>, <a href="#Page_141">141</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Scotland, History of</i> (Burton’s), <a href="#Page_141">141</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Scotland, History of</i> (Tytler’s), <a href="#Page_143">143</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Scott’s Journal</i>, <a href="#Page_138">138</a>, <a href="#Page_139">139</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Scott, Life of Sir Walter</i>, <a href="#Page_137">137-139</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Scott, Michael, <a href="#Page_80">80</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Scott, William Bell, <a href="#Page_240">240</a>, <a href="#Page_260">260</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Sea Dreams</i>, <a href="#Page_224">224</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Searching the Net</i>, <a href="#Page_253">253</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Sedgwick, Adam, <a href="#Page_189">189</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Seeley, J. R., <a href="#Page_131">131</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Senancour, <a href="#Page_217">217</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Senior, N. W., <a href="#Page_165">165</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Sepoy War in India, History of the</i>, <a href="#Page_142">142</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Seraphim, The</i>, <a href="#Page_234">234</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Seven Lamps of Architecture, The</i>, <a href="#Page_195">195</a>, <a href="#Page_198">198</a>.<br /> +<br /> +‘She is not fair to outward view,’ <a href="#Page_60">60</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Shelley, <a href="#Page_45">45</a>, <a href="#Page_46">46</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Shirley</i>, <a href="#Page_103">103</a>, <a href="#Page_106">106</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Shooting Niagara</i>, <a href="#Page_16">16</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Short Studies on Great Subjects</i>, <a href="#Page_130">130</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Sicilian Summer, A</i>, <a href="#Page_62">62</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Silas Marner</i>, <a href="#Page_264">264</a>, <a href="#Page_266">266</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Sinai and Palestine</i>, <a href="#Page_140">140</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Sing-Song</i>, <a href="#Page_244">244</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Sir Brook Fossbrooke</i>, <a href="#Page_99">99</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Sir Galahad</i>, <a href="#Page_222">222</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Sir John Oldcastle</i>, <a href="#Page_225">225</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Sir Launcelot and Queen Guinevere</i>, <a href="#Page_222">222</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Sir Richard Grenville’s Last Fight</i>, <a href="#Page_260">260</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Sketches by Boz</i>, <a href="#Page_83">83</a>, <a href="#Page_84">84</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Slave Power, The</i>, <a href="#Page_165">165</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Smedley, Menella B., <a href="#Page_261">261</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span>Smith, Alexander, <a href="#Page_247">247</a>, <a href="#Page_249">249-251</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Smollett, <a href="#Page_80">80</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Snob, The</i>, <a href="#Page_90">90</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Sohrab and Rustum</i>, <a href="#Page_217">217</a>, <a href="#Page_218">218</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Soldier of Fortune, The</i>, <a href="#Page_253">253</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Solitary, The</i>, <a href="#Page_66">66</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Somerville, Mary, <a href="#Page_175">175</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Song of the Shirt, The</i>, <a href="#Page_3">3</a>, <a href="#Page_56">56</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Song of the Western Men, The</i>, <a href="#Page_259">259</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Songs of the Cavaliers and Roundheads</i>, <a href="#Page_261">261</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Songs of the Governing Classes</i>, <a href="#Page_257">257</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Sonnets and Fugitive Pieces</i>, <a href="#Page_53">53</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Sonnets from the Portuguese</i>, <a href="#Page_234">234</a>, <a href="#Page_235">235-236</a>, <a href="#Page_245">245</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Sonnets on the War</i>, <a href="#Page_247">247</a>, <a href="#Page_249">249</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Sordello</i>, <a href="#Page_7">7</a>, <a href="#Page_45">45</a>, <a href="#Page_232">232</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Soul’s Tragedy, A</i>, <a href="#Page_45">45</a>, <a href="#Page_46">46</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Southern Night, A</i>, <a href="#Page_216">216</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Spanish Ballads</i>, <a href="#Page_136">136</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Spanish Gypsy, The</i>, <a href="#Page_264">264</a>, <a href="#Page_265">265</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Spasmodic School, The, <a href="#Page_213">213</a>, <a href="#Page_246">246</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Spencer, Herbert, <a href="#Page_170">170-174</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Sphinx, The</i>, <a href="#Page_260">260</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Stanley, A. P., <a href="#Page_17">17</a>, <a href="#Page_136">136</a>, <a href="#Page_139">139-140</a>, <a href="#Page_158">158</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Stanhope, Earl, <a href="#Page_142">142</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Stealthy School of Criticism, The</i>, <a href="#Page_241">241</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Sterling, John, <a href="#Page_34">34</a>, <a href="#Page_157">157</a>, <a href="#Page_161">161</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Sterling, Life of</i>, <a href="#Page_16">16</a>, <a href="#Page_20">20</a>, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>, <a href="#Page_34">34</a>, <a href="#Page_135">135</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Stirling-Maxwell, Sir William, <a href="#Page_142">142</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Stones of Venice, The</i>, <a href="#Page_195">195</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Stories from Waterloo</i>, <a href="#Page_99">99</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Strafford</i>, <a href="#Page_45">45</a>, <a href="#Page_46">46</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Strangers Yet</i>, <a href="#Page_58">58</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Strayed Reveller, The</i>, <a href="#Page_214">214</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Stream’s Secret, The</i>, <a href="#Page_243">243</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Strickland, Agnes, <a href="#Page_142">142</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Structure and Distribution of Coral Reefs, The</i>, <a href="#Page_182">182</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Studies of Sensation and Event</i>, <a href="#Page_67">67</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Study of Words, The</i>, <a href="#Page_211">211</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Subjection of Women, The</i>, <a href="#Page_162">162</a>, <a href="#Page_165">165</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Swift, Jonathan, <a href="#Page_35">35</a>, <a href="#Page_92">92</a>, <a href="#Page_98">98</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Swinburne, A. C., <a href="#Page_254">254</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Sybil</i>, <a href="#Page_75">75</a>, <a href="#Page_76">76</a>, <a href="#Page_77">77</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Synthetic Philosophy, The</i>, <a href="#Page_170">170-174</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>System of Logic, A</i>, <a href="#Page_161">161</a>, <a href="#Page_162">162</a>, <a href="#Page_164">164</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +Tait, Archibald C., <a href="#Page_159">159</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Tale of Two Cities, A</i>, <a href="#Page_84">84</a>, <a href="#Page_87">87</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Talfourd, Thomas Noon, <a href="#Page_47">47</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Tancred</i>, <a href="#Page_76">76</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Taylor, Sir Henry, <a href="#Page_36">36</a>, <a href="#Page_61">61-63</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Taylor, Tom, <a href="#Page_47">47</a>, <a href="#Page_274">274</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Tenant of Wildfell Hall, The</i>, <a href="#Page_102">102</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Tennyson, Alfred, Lord, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>, <a href="#Page_38">38-43</a>;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">his early poems, <a href="#Page_38">38</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">his development, <a href="#Page_39">39-42</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lockhart on, <a href="#Page_39">39</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Carlyle on, <a href="#Page_40">40</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Edward Fitzgerald on, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and Keats, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#Page_220">220-228</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">his patriotism, <a href="#Page_221">221</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and the Arthurian legends, <a href="#Page_222">222-223</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">his blank verse, <a href="#Page_223">223-224</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">his dramatic poems, <a href="#Page_224">224-227</a>.</span><br /> +<br /> +Tennyson, Frederick, <a href="#Page_54">54</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Ten Thousand a Year</i>, <a href="#Page_81">81</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Testimony of the Rocks, The</i>, <a href="#Page_179">179</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Thackeray, W. M., <a href="#Page_69">69</a>, <a href="#Page_70">70</a>, <a href="#Page_90">90-98</a>;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">his early life, <a href="#Page_90">90-91</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and the eighteenth century humourists, <a href="#Page_92">92</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and Dickens, <a href="#Page_93">93-94</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">his satire, <a href="#Page_95">95-96</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">his women, <a href="#Page_96">96-97</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and Swift, <a href="#Page_92">92</a>, <a href="#Page_98">98</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#Page_105">105</a>.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span><i>Theophrastus Such, Impressions of</i>, <a href="#Page_264">264</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Thirlwall, Connop, <a href="#Page_120">120</a>, <a href="#Page_123">123-125</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Thom, William, <a href="#Page_61">61</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Thornbury, G. W., <a href="#Page_261">261</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Thorpe, Benjamin, <a href="#Page_211">211</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Thyrsis</i>, <a href="#Page_215">215</a>, <a href="#Page_216">216</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Timbuctoo</i>, <a href="#Page_38">38</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Timbuctoo</i> (Thackeray’s), <a href="#Page_90">90</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Time Flies</i>, <a href="#Page_244">244</a>.<br /> +<br /> +‘’Tis sweet to hear the merry lark,’ <a href="#Page_60">60</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>To a Gipsy Child</i>, <a href="#Page_215">215</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Tom Burke of Ours</i>, <a href="#Page_99">99</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Tom Cringle’s Log</i>, <a href="#Page_80">80</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Tracts for the Times</i>, <a href="#Page_147">147</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Traits and Stories of the Irish Peasantry</i>, <a href="#Page_99">99</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Translating Homer, On</i>, <a href="#Page_204">204</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Travels on the Amazon</i>, <a href="#Page_189">189</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Trench, R. C., <a href="#Page_211">211</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Trevelyan, Sir George, <a href="#Page_111">111</a>, <a href="#Page_116">116</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Tristram and Iseult</i>, <a href="#Page_217">217</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Trollope, Anthony, <a href="#Page_272">272</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Tupper, M. F., <a href="#Page_64">64</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Turner, Charles Tennyson, <a href="#Page_38">38</a>, <a href="#Page_53">53-54</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Two Chiefs of Dunboy, The</i>, <a href="#Page_131">131</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<i>Ulysses</i>, <a href="#Page_224">224</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Unknown Eros, The</i>, <a href="#Page_251">251-252</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Utilitarianism</i>, <a href="#Page_162">162</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<i>Vanitas Vanitatum</i>, <a href="#Page_98">98</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Vanity Fair</i>, <a href="#Page_91">91</a>, <a href="#Page_97">97</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Variation of Animals and Plants under Domestication, The</i>, <a href="#Page_185">185</a>, <a href="#Page_188">188</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Vegetable Mould through the Action of Worms, The Formation of</i>, <a href="#Page_187">187</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Velasquez and his Work</i>, <a href="#Page_142">142</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Venetia</i>, <a href="#Page_76">76</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Verses and Translations</i>, <a href="#Page_257">257</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Vestiges of Creation</i>, <a href="#Page_179">179</a>, <a href="#Page_180">180</a>, <a href="#Page_188">188</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Vicar, The</i>, <a href="#Page_57">57</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Villette</i>, <a href="#Page_101">101</a>, <a href="#Page_103">103</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Virginians, The</i>, <a href="#Page_93">93</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Vision of Sin, The</i>, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Vivian Grey</i>, <a href="#Page_75">75</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Vivia Perpetua</i>, <a href="#Page_256">256</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +Wade, Thomas, <a href="#Page_66">66</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Wallace, Alfred Russel, <a href="#Page_180">180</a>;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and Darwin, <a href="#Page_183">183</a>, <a href="#Page_186">186</a>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#Page_189">189-190</a>.</span><br /> +<br /> +Ward, W. G., <a href="#Page_146">146</a>, <a href="#Page_219">219</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Ward’s English Poets</i>, <a href="#Page_207">207</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>War in Afghanistan, History of the</i>, <a href="#Page_142">142</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>War of the Succession in Spain, History of the</i>, <a href="#Page_142">142</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Warren, J. B. L. <i>See</i> <a href="#tabley">De Tabley, Lord</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Warren Hastings</i>, <a href="#Page_115">115</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Warren, Samuel, <a href="#Page_81">81</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Water Babies, The</i>, <a href="#Page_271">271</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Watson, Mr. William, <a href="#Page_62">62</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Westward Ho!</i>, <a href="#Page_270">270</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Whately, Richard, <a href="#Page_144">144</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>What will He do with It?</i> <a href="#Page_73">73</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Whewell, William, <a href="#Page_166">166</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Whims and Oddities</i>, <a href="#Page_55">55</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Whitehead, Charles, <a href="#Page_66">66</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>White Ship, The</i>, <a href="#Page_243">243</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Whyte-Melville, G. J., <a href="#Page_273">273</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Wilberforce, Samuel, <a href="#Page_155">155</a>, <a href="#Page_184">184</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Wilhelm Meister</i>, Carlyle’s translation of, <a href="#Page_13">13</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Williams, Rowland, <a href="#Page_124">124</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Wilson, Life of Bishop</i>, <a href="#Page_145">145</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Witness, The</i>, <a href="#Page_178">178</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Wives and Daughters</i>, <a href="#Page_107">107</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Woman in White, The</i>, <a href="#Page_273">273</a>.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span><br /> +<i>Wondrous Tale of Alroy, The</i>, <a href="#Page_76">76</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Wood, Mrs. Henry, <a href="#Page_269">269</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Woodland Grave, A</i>, <a href="#Page_254">254</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Woolner, Thomas, <a href="#Page_240">240</a>.<br /> +<br /> +Wordsworth, William, and Matthew Arnold, <a href="#Page_216">216-217</a>;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#Page_223">223</a>.</span><br /> +<br /> +Wright, W. Aldis, <a href="#Page_193">193</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Wuthering Heights</i>, <a href="#Page_102">102</a>, <a href="#Page_103">103</a>, <a href="#Page_104">104</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<i>Yeast</i>, <a href="#Page_269">269</a>, <a href="#Page_270">270</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Yellowplush Papers</i>, The, <a href="#Page_91">91</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Youth of England to Garibaldi’s Legion, The</i>, <a href="#Page_249">249</a>.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<i>Zanoni</i>, <a href="#Page_73">73</a>, <a href="#Page_74">74</a>.</p> + + +<p> </p> +<p class="center">CHISWICK PRESS:—CHARLES WHITTINGHAM AND CO.<br /> +TOOKS COURT, CHANCERY LANE, LONDON.</p> + + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<div class="verts"> + +<p class="center"><span class="huge">Introduction to English Literature</span></p> +<p class="center">By HENRY S. PANCOAST</p> +<p class="center"><i>Fourth Edition, enlarged. 725 pages. Crown 8vo. 7s. 6d. net</i></p> + +<p><b>Prof. C. H. 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