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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0a6cb0f --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #64985 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/64985) diff --git a/old/64985-0.txt b/old/64985-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 74d9812..0000000 --- a/old/64985-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,3848 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook, Men, Women, and Books, by Augustine Birrell - - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world 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 -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - - -Title: Men, Women, and Books - - -Author: Augustine Birrell - - - -Release Date: April 3, 2021 [eBook #64985] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - - -***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MEN, WOMEN, AND BOOKS*** - - -E-text prepared by Martin Pettit and the Online Distributed Proofreading -Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by -Internet Archive (https://archive.org) - - - -Note: Images of the original pages are available through - Internet Archive. See - https://archive.org/details/menwomenbooks00birruoft - - - - - -ESSAYS ABOUT MEN, WOMEN, AND BOOKS - - - * * * * * * - -WORKS BY THE SAME AUTHOR. - - -_CHEAP EDITION. In square crown 8vo., appropriately bound, 2s. 6d. net._ - -IN THE NAME OF THE BODLEIAN, AND OTHER ESSAYS. - -‘These delightful essays possess all the characteristics which -have given their author a special place in modern literary -criticism.’--_Daily News._ - -‘Mr. Birrell delights us on every page when he comes before us as -essayist. “In the Name of the Bodleian” is a worthy companion to -“Obiter Dicta.”’--_Daily Telegraph._ - - -_CHEAP and UNIFORM EDITION, price 2s. 6d. each; also ORIGINAL EDITIONS, -5s. each._ - - - OBITER DICTA. First Series. - OBITER DICTA. Second Series. - ESSAYS ABOUT MEN, WOMEN, & BOOKS. - RES JUDICATÆ. - - -_SECOND EDITION. In fcap. 8vo., cloth, price 5s._ - -MISCELLANIES. - - -_LIBRARY EDITION. In 2 vols., crown 8vo., bound in cloth, 12s._ - -COLLECTED ESSAYS. - - - Vol. I. contains: OBITER DICTA. Series I. - OBITER DICTA. Series II. - - Vol. II. contains: MEN, WOMEN, AND BOOKS. - RES JUDICATÆ. - - -ELLIOT STOCK, 62, PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON, E.C. - - * * * * * * - - - -MEN, WOMEN, AND BOOKS - -by - -AUGUSTINE BIRRELL - -Author of ‘Obiter Dicta,’ etc. - - - - - - -London: Elliot Stock -62, Paternoster Row, E.C. -1910 - - - - -CONTENTS - - PAGE -DEAN SWIFT 1 - -LORD BOLINGBROKE 16 - -STERNE 28 - -DR. JOHNSON 38 - -RICHARD CUMBERLAND 47 - -ALEXANDER KNOX AND THOMAS DE QUINCEY 58 - -HANNAH MORE 70 - -MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF 81 - -SIR JOHN VANBRUGH 96 - -JOHN GAY 109 - -ROGER NORTH’S AUTOBIOGRAPHY 121 - -BOOKS OLD AND NEW 134 - -BOOK-BINDING 147 - -POETS LAUREATE 157 - -PARLIAMENTARY CANDIDATES 167 - -THE BONÂ-FIDE TRAVELLER 176 - -‘HOURS IN A LIBRARY’ 189 - -AMERICANISMS AND BRITICISMS 199 - -AUTHORS AND CRITICS 210 - - - - -DEAN SWIFT. - - -Of writing books about Dean Swift there is no end. I make no complaint, -because I find no fault; I express no wonder, for I feel none. The -subject is, and must always remain, one of strange fascination. We -have no author like the Dean of St. Patrick’s. It has been said of -Wordsworth that good-luck usually attended those who have written about -him. The same thing may be said, with at least equal truth, about -Swift. There are a great many books about him, and with few exceptions -they are all interesting. - -A man who has had his tale told both by Johnson and by Scott ought -to be comprehensible. Swift has been, on the whole, lucky with his -more recent biographers. Dr. Craik’s is a judicious life, Mitford’s an -admirable sketch, Forster’s a valuable fragment; Mr. Leslie Stephen -never fails to get to close quarters with his subject. Then there -are anecdotes without end--all bubbling with vitality--letters, and -journals. And yet, when you have read all that is to be read, what are -you to say--what to think? - -No fouler pen than Swift’s has soiled our literature. His language -is horrible from first to last. He is full of odious images, of base -and abominable allusions. It would be a labour of Hercules to cleanse -his pages. His love-letters are defaced by his incurable coarseness. -This habit of his is so inveterate that it seems a miracle he kept -his sermons free from his blackguard phrases. It is a question not -of morality, but of decency, whether it is becoming to sit in the -same room with the works of this divine. How the good Sir Walter ever -managed to see him through the press is amazing. In this matter Swift -is inexcusable. - -Then his unfeeling temper, his domineering brutality--the tears he -drew, the discomfort he occasioned. - - - ‘Swift, dining at a house, where the part of the tablecloth which - was next him happened to have a small hole, tore it as wide as he - could, and ate his soup through it; his reason for such behaviour - was, as he said, to mortify the lady of the house, and to teach - her to pay a proper attention to housewifery.’ - - -One is glad to know he sometimes met his match. He slept one night at -an inn kept by a widow lady of very respectable family, Mrs. Seneca, -of Drogheda. In the morning he made a violent complaint of the sheets -being dirty. - -‘Dirty, indeed!’ exclaimed Mrs. Seneca; ‘you are the last man, doctor, -that should complain of dirty sheets.’ - -And so, indeed, he was, for he had just published the ‘Lady’s -Dressing-room,’ a very dirty sheet indeed. - -Honour to Mrs. Seneca, of Drogheda! - -This side of the account needs no vouching; but there is another side. - -In 1705 Addison made a present of his book of travels to Dr. Swift, in -the blank leaf of which he wrote the following words: - - - ‘To Dr. Jonathan Swift, - The most agreeable companion, - The truest friend, - And the greatest genius of his age.’ - - -Addison was not lavish of epithets. His geese, Ambrose Philips -excepted, were geese, not swans. His testimony is not to be -shaken--and what a testimony it is! - -Then there is Stella’s Swift. As for Stella herself, I have never felt -I knew enough about her to join very heartily in Thackeray’s raptures: -‘Who has not in his mind an image of Stella? Who does not love her? -Fair and tender creature! Pure and affectionate heart.... Gentle lady! -so lovely, so loving, so unhappy.... You are one of the saints of -English story.’ This may be so, but all I feel I know about Stella is, -that Swift loved her. That is certain, at all events. - - - ‘If this be error, and upon we proved, - I never writ, and no man ever loved.’ - - -The verses to Stella are altogether lovely: - - - ‘But, Stella, say what evil tongue - Reports you are no longer young, - That Time sits with his scythe to mow - Where erst sat Cupid with his bow, - That half your locks are turned to gray - I’ll ne’er believe a word they say. - ’Tis true, but let it not be known, - My eyes are somewhat dimmish grown.’ - - -And again: - - - ‘Oh! then, whatever Heaven intends, - Take pity on your pitying friends! - Nor let your ills affect your mind - To fancy they can be unkind. - Me, surely me, you ought to spare - Who gladly would your suffering share, - Or give my scrap of life to you - And think it far beneath your due; - You, to whose care so oft I owe - That I’m alive to tell you so.’ - - -We are all strangely woven in one piece, as Shakespeare says. These -verses of Swift irresistibly remind their readers of Cowper’s lines to -Mrs. Unwin. - -Swift’s prose is famous all the world over. To say anything about -it is superfluous. David Hume indeed found fault with it. Hume paid -great attention to the English language, and by the time he died had -come to write it with much facility and creditable accuracy; but -Swift is one of the masters of English prose. But how admirable -also is his poetry--easy, yet never slipshod! It lacks one quality -only--imagination. There is not a fine phrase, a magical line to be -found in it, such as may occasionally be found in--let us say--Butler. -Yet, as a whole, Swift is a far more enjoyable poet than Butler. - -Swift has unhappily written some abominable verses, which ought never -to have been set up in type; but the ‘Legion Club,’ the verses on -his own death, ‘Cadenus and Vanessa,’ the ‘Rhapsody on Poetry,’ the -tremendous lines on the ‘Day of Judgment,’ and many others, all belong -to enjoyable poetry, and can never lose their freshness, their charm, -their vitality. Amongst the poets of the eighteenth century Swift sits -secure, for he can never go out of fashion. - -His hatred of mankind seems genuine; there is nothing _falsetto_ -about it. He is always in sober, deadly earnest when he abuses his -fellow-men. What an odd revenge we have taken! His gospel of hatred, -his testament of woe--his ‘Gulliver,’ upon which he expended the -treasures of his wit, and into which he instilled the concentrated -essence of his rage--has become a child’s book, and has been read with -wonder and delight by generations of innocents. After all, it is a -kindly place, this planet, and the best use we have for our cynics is -to let them amuse the junior portion of our population. - -I only know one good-humoured anecdote of Swift; it is very slight, -but it is fair to tell it. He dined one day in the company of the Lord -Keeper, his son, and their two ladies, with Mr. Cæsar, Treasurer of -the Navy, at his house in the City. They happened to talk of Brutus, -and Swift said something in his praise, and then, as it were, suddenly -recollecting himself, said: - -‘Mr. Cæsar, I beg your pardon.’ - -One can fancy this occasioning a pleasant ripple of laughter. - -There is another story I cannot lay my hands on to verify, but it is to -this effect: Faulkner, Swift’s Dublin publisher, years after the Dean’s -death, was dining with some friends, who rallied him upon his odd way -of eating some dish--I think, asparagus. He confessed Swift had told -him it was the right way; therefore, they laughed the louder, until -Faulkner, growing a little angry, exclaimed: - -‘I tell you what it is, gentlemen: if you had ever dined with the Dean, -you would have eaten your asparagus as he bade you.’ - -Truly a wonderful man--imperious, masterful. Yet his state is not -kingly like Johnson’s--it is tyrannical, sinister, forbidding. - -Nobody has brought out more effectively than Mr. Churton Collins[A] -Swift’s almost ceaseless literary activity. To turn over Scott’s -nineteen volumes is to get some notion of it. It is not a pleasant -task, for Swift was an unclean spirit; but he fascinates and makes -the reader long to peep behind the veil, and penetrate the secret of -this horrible, yet loveable, because beloved, man. Mr. Collins is -rather short with this longing on the part of the reader. He does -not believe in any secret; he would have us believe that it is all -as plain as a pikestaff. Swift was never mad, and was never married. -Stella was a well-regulated damsel, who, though she would have liked -very much to have been Mrs. Dean, soon recognised that her friend -was not a marrying man, and was, therefore, well content for the rest -of her days to share his society with Mrs. Dingley. Vanessa was an -ill-regulated damsel, who had not the wit to see that her lover was -not a marrying man, and, in the most vulgar fashion possible, thrust -herself most inconveniently upon his notice, received a snubbing, took -to drink, and died of the spleen. As for the notion that Swift died -mad, Mr. Collins conceives himself to get rid of that by reprinting a -vague and most inconclusive letter of Dr. Bucknill’s. The mystery and -the misery of Swift’s life have not been got rid of by Mr. Collins. -He has left them where he found them--at large. He complains, perhaps -justly, that Scott never took the trouble to form any clear impression -of Swift’s character. Yet we must say that we understand Sir Walter’s -Swift better than we do Mr. Collins’. Whether the Dean married Stella -can never be known. For our part, we think he did not; but to assert -positively that no marriage took place, as Mr. Collins does, is to -carry dogmatism too far. - -A good deal of fault has lately been found with Thackeray’s lecture -on Swift. We still think it both delightful and just. The rhapsody -about Stella, as I have already hinted, is not to our mind. Rhapsodies -about real women are usually out of place. Stella was no saint, but a -quick-witted, sharp-tongued hussy, whose fate it was to win the love -and pacify the soul of the greatest Englishman of his time--for to call -Swift an Irishman is sheer folly. But, apart from this not unnatural -slip, what, I wonder, is the matter with Thackeray’s lecture, regarded, -not as a storehouse of facts, or as an estimate of Swift’s writings, -but as a sketch of character? Mr. Collins says quite as harsh things -about Swift as are to be found in Thackeray’s lecture, but he does -not attempt, as Thackeray does, to throw a strong light upon this -strange and moving figure. It is a hard thing to attempt--failure in -such a case is almost inevitable; but I do not think Thackeray did -fail. An ounce of mother-wit is often worth a pound of clergy. Insight -is not always the child of study. But here, again, the matter should -be brought to the test by each reader for himself. Read Thackeray’s -lecture once again. - -What can be happier or truer than his comparison of Swift with a -highwayman disappointed of his plunder? - - - ‘The great prize has not come yet. The coach with the mitre and - crosier in it, which he intends to have for his share, has - been delayed on the way from St. James’s. The mails wait until - nightfall, when his runners come and tell him that the coach has - taken a different road and escaped him. So he fires his pistols - into the air with a curse, and rides away in his own country.’ - - -Thackeray’s criticism is severe, but is it not just? Are we to stand -by and hear our nature libelled, and our purest affections beslimed, -without a word of protest? ‘I think I would rather have had a potato -and a friendly word from Goldsmith than have been beholden to the -Dean for a guinea and a dinner.’ So would I. But no one of the Dean’s -numerous critics was more keenly alive than Thackeray to the majesty -and splendour of Swift’s genius, and to his occasional flashes of -tenderness and love. That amazing person, Lord Jeffrey, in one of his -too numerous contributions to the _Edinburgh Review_, wrote of the -poverty of Swift’s style. Lord Jeffrey was, we hope, a professional -critic, not an amateur. - -FOOTNOTE: - -[A] ‘Jonathan Swift,’ by J. Churton Collins: Chatto & Windus, 1893. - - - - -LORD BOLINGBROKE. - - -The most accomplished of all our political rascals, Lord Bolingbroke, -who once, if the author of ‘Animated Nature’ is to be believed, ran -naked through the Park, has, in his otherwise pinchbeck ‘Reflections -in Exile,’ one quaint fancy. He suggests that the exile, instead -of mourning the deprivation of the society of his friends, should -take a pencil (the passage is not before me) and make a list of his -acquaintances, and then ask himself which of the number he wants to see -at the moment. It is, no doubt, always wise to be particular. Delusion -as well as fraud loves to lurk in generalities. - -As for this Bolingbroke himself, that he was a consummate scoundrel is -now universally admitted; but his mental qualifications, though great, -still excite differences of opinion. Even those who are comforted by -his style and soothed by the rise and fall of his sentences, are fain -to admit that had his classic head been severed from his shoulders a -rogue would have met with his deserts. He has been long since stripped -of all his fine pretences, and, morally speaking, runs as naked through -the pages of history as erst he did (according to Goldsmith) across -Hyde Park. - -That Bolingbroke had it in him to have been a great Parliamentarian is -certain. He knew ‘the nature of that assembly,’ and that ‘they grow, -like hounds, fond of the man who shows them sport, and by whose halloo -they are used to be encouraged.’ Like the rascally lawyer in ‘Guy -Mannering,’ Mr. Gilbert Glossin, he could do a good piece of work when -so minded. But he was seldom so minded, and consequently he failed to -come up to the easy standard of his day, and thus brought it about that -by his side Sir Robert Walpole appears in the wings and aspect of an -angel. - -St. John has now nothing to wear but his wit and his style; these still -find admirers amongst the judicious. - -Mr. Churton Collins, who has written a delightful book about -Bolingbroke, and also about Voltaire in England, has a great notion -of Bolingbroke’s literary merits, and extols them with ardour. He is -not likely to be wrong, but, none the less, it is lawful to surround -yourself with the seven stately quartos which contain Bolingbroke’s -works and letters, and ask yourself whether Mr. Collins is right. - -Of all Lord Bolingbroke’s published writings, none is better than his -celebrated Letter to Wyndham, recounting his adventures in France, -whither he betook himself hastily after Queen Anne’s death, and where -he joined the Pretender. Here he is not philosophizing, but telling a -tale, varnished it may be, but sparkling with malice, wit, and humour. -Well may Mr. Collins say, ‘Walpole never produced a more amusing sketch -than the picture of the Pretender’s Court at Paris and of the Privy -Council in the Bois de Boulogne’; but when he proceeds further and -adds, ‘Burke never produced anything nobler than the passage which -commences with the words “The ocean which environs us is an emblem of -our government,”’ I am glad to ejaculate, ‘Indeed he did!’ - -Here is the passage: - - - ‘The ocean which environs us is an emblem of our government, - and the pilot and the Minister are in similar circumstances. It - seldom happens that either of them can steer a direct course, and - they both arrive at their ports by means which frequently seem - to carry them from it. But, as the work advances, the conduct of - him who leads it on with real abilities clears up, the appearing - inconsistencies are reconciled, and, when it is once consummated, - the whole shows itself so uniform, so plain, and so natural, that - every dabbler in politics will be apt to think he could have done - the same. But, on the other hand, a man who proposes no such - object, who substitutes artifice in the place of ability, who, - instead of leading parties and governing accidents, is eternally - agitated backwards and forwards, who begins every day something - new and carries nothing on to perfection, may impose a while on - the world, but, a little sooner or later, the mystery will be - revealed, and nothing will be found to be couched under it but - a thread of pitiful expedients, the ultimate end of which never - extended farther than living from day to day.’ - - -A fine passage, most undoubtedly, and an excellent homily for -Ministers. No one but a dabbler in literature will be apt to think he -could have done the same--but noble with the nobility of Burke? A noble -passage ought to do more for a reader than compel his admiration or win -his assent; it should leave him a little better than it found him, with -a warmer heart and a more elevated mind. - -Mr. Collins also refers with delight to a dissertation on Eloquence, -to be found in the ‘Letter on the Spirit of Patriotism,’ and again -expresses a doubt whether it would be possible to select anything -finer from the pages of Burke. - -The passage is too long to be quoted; it begins thus: - -‘Eloquence has charms to lead mankind, and gives a nobler superiority -than power that every dunce may use, or fraud that every knave may -employ.’ - -And then follows a good deal about Demosthenes and Cicero, and other -talkers of old time. - -This may or may not be a fine passage; but if we allow it to be the -former, we cannot admit that as it flows it fertilizes. - -Bolingbroke and Chesterfield are two of the remarkable figures of -the first half of the last century. They are both commonly called -‘great,’ to distinguish them from other holders of the same titles. -Their accomplishments were as endless as their opportunities. They -were the most eloquent men of their time, and both possessed that -insight into things, that distinction of mind, we call genius. They -were ready writers, and have left ‘works’ behind them full of wit and -gracious expressions; but neither the one nor the other has succeeded -in lodging himself in the general memory. The ill-luck which drove -them out of politics has pursued them down the path of letters, though -the frequenters of that pleasant track are wisely indifferent to the -characters of dead authors who still give pleasure. - -No shrewder men ever sat upon a throne than the first two Georges, -monarchs of this realm. The second George hated Chesterfield, and -called him ‘a tea-table scoundrel.’ The phrase sticks. There _is_ -something petty about this great Lord Chesterfield. The first George, -though wholly illiterate, yet took it upon himself to despise -Bolingbroke, philosopher though he was, and dismissed an elaborate -effusion of his as ‘_bagatelles_.’ Here again the phrase sticks, and -not even the beautiful type and lordly margins of Mallet’s edition of -Lord Bolingbroke’s writings, or the stately periods of that nobleman -himself, can drive the royal verdict out of my ears. There is nothing -real about these writings save their colossal impudence, as when, for -example, in his letter on the State of Parties on the accession of -George I., he solemnly denies that there was any design during the four -last years of Queen Anne’s reign to set aside the Hanover succession, -and, in support of his denial, quotes himself as a man who, if there -had been anything of the sort, must have known of it. By the side of -this man the perfidy of Thurlow or of Wedderburn shows white as wool. - -By the aid of his own wits and a cunning wife, and assisted by the -growing hatred of corruption, Bolingbroke, towards the close of his -long life, nearly succeeded in securing some measure of oblivion of -his double-dyed treachery. He managed to inflame the ‘Young England’ -of the period with his picture of a ‘Patriot King,’ and if he had only -put into the fire his lucubrations about Christianity he might have -accomplished his exit from a world he had made worse for seventy-five -years with a show of decency. But he did not do so; the ‘cur Mallet’ -was soon ready with his volumes, and then the memory of Bolingbroke was -exposed to the obloquy which in this country is (or was) the heritage -of the heterodox. - -Horace Walpole, who hated Bolingbroke, as he was in special duty bound -to do, felt this keenly. He was glad Bolingbroke was gibbeted, but -regretted that he should swing on a wrong count in the indictment. - -Writing to Sir Horace Mann, Walpole says: - -‘You say you have made my Lord Cork give up my Lord Bolingbroke. It is -comical to see how he is given up here since the best of his writings, -his metaphysical divinity, has been published. While he betrayed and -abused every man who trusted him, or who had forgiven him, or to whom -he was obliged, he was a hero, a patriot, a philosopher, and the -greatest genius of the age; the moment his “Craftsmen” against Moses -and St. Paul are published we have discovered he was the worst man and -the worst writer in the world. The grand jury have presented his works, -and as long as there are any parsons he will be ranked with Tindal -and Toland--nay, I don’t know whether my father won’t become a rubric -martyr for having been persecuted by him.’ - -My sympathies are with Walpole, although, when he pronounces -Bolingbroke’s metaphysical divinity to be the best of his writings, I -cannot agree. - -Mr. Collins’ book is a most excellent one, and if anyone reads it -because of my recommendation he will owe me thanks. Mr. Collins values -Pope not merely for his poetry, but for his philosophy also, which he -cadged from Bolingbroke. The ‘Essay on Man’ is certainly better reading -than anything Bolingbroke ever wrote--though what may be the value of -its philosophy is a question which may well stand over till after the -next General Election, or even longer. - - - - -STERNE. - - -No less pious a railway director than Sir Edward Watkin once prefaced -an oration to the shareholders of one of his numerous undertakings by -expressing, in broken accents, the wish that ‘He who tempers the wind -to the shorn lamb might deal gently with illustrious personages in -their present grievous affliction.’ The wish was a kind one, and is -only referred to here as an illustration of the amazing skill of the -author of the phrase quoted in so catching the tone, temper, and style -of King James’s version, that the words occur to the feeling mind as -naturally as any in Holy Writ as the best expression of a sorrowful -emotion. - -The phrase itself is, indeed, an excellent example of Sterne’s genius -for pathos. No one knew better than he how to drive words home. -George Herbert, in his selection of ‘Outlandish Proverbs,’ to which -he subsequently gave the alternate title ‘Jacula Prudentum,’ has the -following: ‘To a close-shorn sheep God gives Wind by measure’; but -this proverb in that wording would never have succeeded in making the -chairman of a railway company believe he had read it somewhere in the -Bible. It is the same thought, but the words which convey it stop far -short of the heart. A close-shorn sheep will not brook comparison with -Sterne’s ‘shorn lamb’; whilst the tender, compassionate, beneficent -‘God tempers the wind’ makes the original ‘God gives wind by measure’ -wear the harsh aspect of a wholly unnecessary infliction. - -Sterne is our best example of the plagiarist whom none dare make -ashamed. He robbed other men’s orchards with both hands; and yet no -more original writer than he ever went to press in these isles. - -He has been dogged, of course; but, as was befitting in his case, -it has been done pleasantly. Sterne’s detective was the excellent -Dr. Ferriar, of Manchester, whose ‘Illustrations of Sterne,’ first -published in 1798, were written at an earlier date for the edification -of the Manchester Literary and Philosophical Society. Those were -pleasant days, when men of reading were content to give their best -thoughts first to their friends and then--ten years afterwards--to the -public. - -Dr. Ferriar’s book is worthy of its subject. The motto on the -title-page is delightfully chosen. It is taken from the opening -paragraph of Lord Shaftesbury’s ‘Miscellaneous Reflections’: ‘Peace -be with the soul of that charitable and Courteous Author who for the -common benefit of his fellow-Authors introduced the ingenious way -of MISCELLANEOUS WRITING.’ Here Dr. Ferriar stopped; but I will add -the next sentence: ‘It must be owned that since this happy method -was established the Harvest of Wit has been more plentiful and the -Labourers more in number than heretofore.’ Wisely, indeed, did Charles -Lamb declare Shaftesbury was not too genteel for him. No pleasanter -penance for random thinking can be devised than spending an afternoon -turning over Shaftesbury’s three volumes and trying to discover how -near he ever did come to saying that ‘Ridicule was the test of truth.’ - -Dr. Ferriar’s happy motto puts the reader in a sweet temper to start -with, for he sees at once that the author is no pedantic, soured churl, -but a good fellow who is going to make a little sport with a celebrated -wit, and show you how a genius fills his larder. - -The first thing that strikes you in reading Dr. Ferriar’s book is the -marvellous skill with which Sterne has created his own atmosphere and -characters, in spite of the fact that some of the most characteristic -remarks of his characters are, in the language of the Old Bailey, -‘stolen goods.’ ‘“There is no cause but one,” replied my Uncle Toby, -“why one man’s nose is longer than another’s, but because God pleases -to have it so.” “That is Grangousier’s solution,” said my father. -“’Tis he,” continued my Uncle Toby, looking up and not regarding -my father’s interruption, “who makes us all, and frames and puts -us together in such forms and proportions and for such ends as is -agreeable to His infinite wisdom.”’ - -‘“Out of the fulness of the heart the mouth speaketh”; and if those are -not the words of my Uncle Toby, it is idle to believe in anything’: -and yet we read in Rabelais--as, indeed, Sterne suggests to us we -should--‘“Pourquoi,” dit Gargantua, “est-ce que frère Jean a si beau -nez?” “Parce,” répondit Grangousier, “qu’ainsi Dieu l’a voulu, lequel -nous fait en telle forme et à telle fin selon son divin arbitre, que -fait un potier ses vaisseaux.”’ - -To create a character and to be able to put in his mouth borrowed words -which yet shall quiver with his personality is the supreme triumph of -the greatest ‘miscellaneous writer’ who ever lived. - -Dr. Ferriar’s book, after all, but establishes this: that the only -author whom Sterne really pillaged is Burton, of the ‘Anatomy of -Melancholy,’ a now well-known writer, but who in Sterne’s time, despite -Dr. Johnson’s partiality, appears to have been neglected. Sir Walter -Scott, an excellent authority on such a point, says, in his ‘Life of -Sterne,’ that Dr. Ferriar’s essay raised the ‘“Anatomy of Melancholy” -to double price in the book market.’ - -Sir Walter is unusually hard upon Sterne in this matter of the -‘Anatomy.’ But different men, different methods. Sir Walter had his own -way of cribbing. Sterne’s humorous conception of the character of the -elder Shandy required copious illustration from learned sources, and a -whole host of examples and whimsicalities, which it would have passed -the wit of man to invent for himself. He found these things to his -hand in Burton, and, like our first parent, ‘he scrupled not to eat.’ -It is not easy to exaggerate the extent of his plunder. The well-known -chapter with its refrain, ‘The Lady Baussiere rode on,’ and the chapter -on the death of Brother Bobby, are almost, though not altogether, pure -Burton. - -The general effect of it all is to raise your opinion immensely--of -Burton. As for your opinion of Sterne as a man of conduct, is it -worth while having one? It is a poor business bludgeoning men who -bore the brunt of life a long century ago, and whose sole concern now -with the world is to delight it. Laurence Sterne is not standing for -Parliament. ‘Eliza’ has been dead a dozen decades. Nobody covers his -sins under the cloak of this particular parson. Our sole business is -with ‘Tristram Shandy’ and ‘The Sentimental Journey’; and if these -books are not matters for congratulation and joy, then the pleasures -of literature are all fudge, and the whole thing a got-up job of ‘The -Trade’ and the hungry crew who go buzzing about it. - -Mr. Traill concludes his pleasant ‘Life of Sterne’ in a gloomy vein, -which I cannot for the life of me understand. He says: ‘The fate of -Richardson might seem to be close behind him’ (Sterne). Even the fate -of ‘Clarissa’ is no hard one. She still numbers good intellects, and -bears her century lightly. Diderot, as Mr. Traill reminds us, praised -her outrageously--but Mr. Ruskin is not far behind; and from Diderot -to Ruskin is a good ‘drive.’ But ‘Tristram’ is a very different thing -from ‘Clarissa.’ I should have said, without hesitation, that it was -one of the most popular books in the language. Go where you will -amongst men--old and young, undergraduates at the Universities, readers -in our great cities, old fellows in the country, judges, doctors, -barristers--if they have any tincture of literature about them, they -all know their ‘Shandy’ at least as well as their ‘Pickwick.’ What more -can be expected? ‘True Shandeism,’ its author declares, ‘think what you -will against it, opens the heart and lungs.’ I will be bound to say -Sterne made more people laugh in 1893 than in any previous year; and, -what is more, he will go on doing it--‘“that is, if it please God,” -said my Uncle Toby.’ - - - - -DR. JOHNSON. - - -Dr. Johnson’s massive shade cannot complain of this generation. We are -not all of us--or, indeed, many of us--much after his mind, but, for -all that, we worship his memory. Editions of Boswell, old or new, are -on every shelf; but more than this, there is a healthy and commendable -disposition to recognise that great, surpassingly great, as are the -merits of Boswell, still there is such a thing as a detached and -separate Johnson. - -It is a good thing every now and again to get rid of Boswell. It is a -little ungrateful, but we have Johnson’s authority for the statement -that we hate our benefactors. After all, even had there been no -Boswell, there would have been a Johnson. I will always stick to it -that Hawkins’s Life is a most readable book. Dr. Birkbeck Hill stands -a good chance of being hated some day. We owed him a debt of gratitude -already. He has lately added to it by publishing at the Clarendon -Press, in two stately volumes, uniform with his great edition of the -Life, the ‘Letters of Samuel Johnson, LL.D.’ - -For a lazy man who loathed writing Dr. Johnson did not do badly--his -letters to Mrs. Thrale exceed three hundred. It is not known that he -ever wrote a letter to Burke. I cannot quite jump with the humour of -Dr. Hill’s comment on this fact. He observes: ‘So far as we know, he -did not write a single letter to Edward Burke--he wrote more than three -hundred to the wife of a Southwark brewer.’ What has the beer got to -do with it? and why drag in Southwark? Every man knows, without being -told, why Johnson wrote three hundred letters to Mrs. Thrale; and as -for his not writing to Burke, it is notorious that the Doctor never -could be got to write to anybody for information. - -Dr. Hill’s two volumes are as delightful books as ever issued from -the press. In them Dr. Johnson is to be seen in every aspect of his -character, whilst a complete study may be made from them of the -enormous versatility of his style. It is hard to say what one admires -most--the ardour of his affection, the piety of his nature, the -friendliness of his disposition, the playfulness of his humour, or his -love of learning and of letters. - -What strikes one perhaps most, if you assume a merely critical -attitude, is the glorious ease and aptitude of his quotations from -ancient and modern writings. Of pedantry there is not a trace. Nothing -is forced or dragged in. It is all, apparently, simply inevitable. You -do not exclaim as you read, ‘What a memory the fellow has!’ but merely, -‘How charming it all is!’ - -It is not difficult to construct from these two volumes alone the -gospel--the familiar, the noble gospel according to Dr. Johnson. It -reads somewhat as follows: - - - ‘Your father begot you and your mother bore you. Honour them - both. Husbands, be faithful to your wives. Wives, forgive your - husbands’ unfaithfulness--once. No grown man who is dependent on - the will, that is the whim, of another can be happy, and life - without enjoyment is intolerable gloom. Therefore, as money means - independence and enjoyment, get money, and having got it keep it. - A spendthrift is a fool. - - ‘Clear your mind of cant and never debauch your understanding. The - only liberty worth turning out into the street for, is the liberty - to do what you like in your own house and to say what you like in - your own inn. All work is bondage. - - ‘Never get excited about causes you do not understand, or about - people you have never seen. Keep Corsica out of your head. - - ‘Life is a struggle with either poverty or ennui; but it is better - to be rich than to be poor. Death is a terrible thing to face. The - man who says he is not afraid of it lies. Yet, as murderers have - met it bravely on the scaffold, when the time comes so perhaps may - I. In the meantime I am horribly afraid. The future is dark. I - should like more evidence of the immortality of the soul. - - ‘There is great solace in talk. We--you and I--are shipwrecked on - a wave-swept rock. At any moment one or other of us, perhaps both, - may be carried out to sea and lost. For the time being we have a - modicum of light and warmth, of meat and drink. Let us constitute - ourselves a club, stretch out our legs and talk. We have minds, - memories, varied experiences, different opinions. Sir, let us - talk, not as men who mock at fate, not with coarse speech or foul - tongue, but with a manly mixture of the gloom that admits the - inevitable, and the merriment that observes the incongruous. Thus - talking we shall learn to love one another, not sentimentally but - fundamentally. - - ‘Cultivate your mind, if you happen to have one. Care greatly for - books and literature. Venerate poor scholars, but don’t shout - for “Wilkes and Liberty!” The one is a whoremonger, the other a - flatulency. - - ‘If any tyrant prevents your goings out and your comings in, fill - your pockets with large stones and kill him as he passes. Then go - home and think no more about it. Never theorize about Revolution. - Finally, pay your score at your club and your final debt to Nature - generously and without casting the account too narrowly. Don’t be - a prig like Sir John Hawkins, or your own enemy like Bozzy, or a - Whig like Burke, or a vile wretch like Rousseau, or pretend to be - an atheist like Hume, but be a good fellow, and don’t insist upon - being remembered more than a month after you are dead.’ - - -This is but the First Lesson. To compose the Second would be a more -difficult task and must not be here attempted. These two volumes of Dr. -Hill are endless in their variety. Johnson was gloomy enough, and many -of his letters may well move you to tears, but his was ever a human -gloom. The year before his death he writes to Mrs. Thrale: - -‘The black dog I hope always to resist and in time to drive, though I -am deprived of almost all those that used to help me. The neighbourhood -is impoverished. I had once Richardson and Lawrence in my reach. Mrs. -Allen is dead. My house has lost Levet, a man who took interest in -everything and therefore ready at conversation. Mrs. Williams is so -weak that she can be a companion no longer. When I rise my breakfast is -solitary--the black dog waits to share it; from breakfast to dinner he -continues barking, except that Dr. Brocklesby for a little keeps him -at a distance. Dinner with a sick woman you may venture to suppose not -much better than solitary. After dinner, what remains but to count the -clock and hope for that sleep which I can scarce expect? Night comes at -last, and some hours of restlessness and confusion bring me again to a -day of solitude. What shall exclude the black dog from an habitation -like this? If I were a little richer I would perhaps take some cheerful -female into the house.’ - -It is a melancholy picture, but the ‘cheerful female’ shoots a ray of -light across the gloom. Everyone should add these two volumes to his -library, and if he has not a library, let him begin making one with -them. - - - - -RICHARD CUMBERLAND. - - -‘He has written comedies at which we have cried and tragedies at which -we have laughed; he has composed indecent novels and religious epics; -he has pandered to the public lust for personal anecdote by writing his -own life and the private history of his acquaintances.’ Of whom is this -a portrait, and who is the limner? What are the names of the comedies -and the tragedies and the novels thus highly recommended to the curious -reader? These are questions, I flatter myself, wholly devoid of public -interest. - -The quotation is from a review in the _Quarterly_, written by -Sir Walter Scott, of old Richard Cumberland’s last novel, ‘John -de Lancaster,’ published in 1809, when its author, ‘the Terence -of England,’ was well-nigh eighty years of age. The passage is a -fierce one, but Scott’s good-nature was proof against everything but -affectation. No man minded a bad novel less than the author of ‘Guy -Mannering’ and ‘The Heart of Midlothian.’ I am certain he could have -pulled Bishop Thirlwall through ‘The Wide, Wide World,’ in the middle -of which, for some unaccountable reason, that great novel-reading -prelate stuck fast. But an author had only to pooh-pooh the public -taste, to sneer at popularity, to discourse solemnly on his function as -a teacher of his age and master of his craft, to make Sir Walter show -his teeth, and his fangs were formidable; and the storm of his wrath -all the more tremendous because bursting from a clear sky. - -I will quote a few words from the passage in ‘John de Lancaster’ which -made Scott so angry, and which he pronounced a doleful lamentation over -the ‘praise and pudding which Cumberland alleges have been gobbled up -by his contemporaries’: - - - ‘If in the course of my literary labours I had been less studious - to adhere to nature and simplicity, I am perfectly convinced - I should have stood higher in estimation with the purchasers - of copyright, and probably have been read and patronized by my - contemporaries in the proportion of ten to one.’ - - -It seems a harmless kind of bleat after all, but it was enough to sting -Scott to fury, and make him fall upon the old man in a manner somewhat -too savage and tartarly. Some years later, and after Cumberland was -dead, Sir Walter wrote a sketch of his life in the vein we are better -accustomed to associate with the name of Scott. - -Cumberland was a voluminous author, having written two epics, -thirty-eight dramatic pieces, including a revised version of ‘Timon -of Athens’--of which Horace Walpole said, ‘he has caught the manners -and diction of the original so exactly that I think it is full as bad -a play as it was before he corrected it’--a score or two of fugitive -poetical compositions, including some verses to Dr. James, whose -powders played almost as large a part in the lives of men of that time -as Garrick himself, numerous prose publications and three novels, -‘Arundel,’ ‘Henry,’ and ‘John de Lancaster.’ Of the novels, ‘Henry’ -is the one to which Sir Walter’s epitaph is least inapplicable--but -Cumberland meant no harm. Were I to be discovered on Primrose Hill, or -any other eminence, reading ‘Henry,’ I should blush no deeper than if -the book had been ‘David Grieve.’ - -Cumberland has, of course, no place in men’s memories by virtue of -his plays, poems, or novels. Even the catholic Chambers gives no -extracts from Cumberland in the ‘Encyclopedia.’ What keeps him for ever -alive is--first, his place in Goldsmith’s great poem, ‘Retaliation’; -secondly, his memoirs, to which Sir Walter refers so unkindly; and -thirdly, the tradition--the well-supported tradition--that he was the -original ‘Sir Fretful Plagiary.’ - -On this last point we have the authority of Croker, and there is none -better for anything disagreeable. Croker says he knew Cumberland well -for the last dozen years of his life, and that to his last day he -resembled ‘Sir Fretful.’ - -The Memoirs were first published in 1806, in a splendidly printed -quarto. The author wanted money badly, and Lackington’s house gave him -£500 for his manuscript. It is an excellent book. I do not quarrel with -Mr. Leslie Stephen’s description of it in the ‘National Dictionary -of Biography’: ‘A very loose book, dateless, inaccurate, but with -interesting accounts of men of note.’ All I mean by excellent is -excellent to read. The Memoirs touch upon many points of interest. -Cumberland was born in the Master’s Lodge, at Trinity, Cambridge, in -the Judge’s Chamber--a room hung round with portraits of ‘hanging -judges’ in their official robes,and where a great Anglican divine and -preacher told me he had once passed a sleepless night, so scared was -he by these sinful emblems of human justice. There is an admirable -account in Cumberland’s Memoirs of his maternal grandfather, the -famous Richard Bentley, and of the Vice-Master, Dr. Walker, fit to -be read along with De Quincey’s spirited essay on the same subject. -Then the scene is shifted to Dublin Castle, where Cumberland was -Ulster-Secretary when Halifax was Lord-Lieutenant, and Single-speech -Hamilton had acquired by purchase (for a brief season) the brains of -Edmund Burke. There is a wonderful sketch of Bubb Dodington and his -villa ‘La Trappe,’ on the banks of the Thames, whither one fair evening -Wedderburn brought Mrs. Haughton in a hackney-coach. You read of Dr. -Johnson and Dr. Goldsmith, of Garrick and Foote, and participate in the -bustle and malice of the play-house. Unluckily, Cumberland was sent to -Spain on a mission, and came home with a grievance. This part is dull, -but in all other respects the Memoirs are good to read. - -Cumberland’s father, who became an Irish bishop, is depicted by his son -as a most pleasing character; and no doubt of his having been so would -ever have entered a head always disposed to think well of fathers had -not my copy of the Memoirs been annotated throughout in the nervous, -scholarly hand of a long-previous owner who, for some reason or -another, hated the Cumberlands, the Whig clergy, and the Irish people -with a hatred which found ample room and verge enough in the spacious -margins of the Memoirs. - -I print one only of these splenetic notes: - - - ‘I forget whether I have noticed this elsewhere, therefore I - will make sure. In the novel “Arundel,” Cumberland has drawn an - exact picture of himself as secretary to Halifax, and has made - the father of the hero a clergyman and a keen electioneerer--the - vilest character in fiction. The laborious exculpation of Parson - Cumberland in these Memoirs does not wipe out the scandal of such - a picture. In spite of all he says, we cannot help suspecting that - Parson Cumberland and Joseph Arundel had a likeness. N.B.--In - both novels (_i.e._, “Arundel” and “Henry”) the portrait of a - modern clergyman is too true. But it is strange that Cumberland, - thus hankering after the Church, should have volunteered two such - characters as Joseph Arundel and Claypole.’ - - -‘Whispering tongues can poison truth,’ and a persistent annotator who -writes a legible hand is not easily shaken off. - -Perhaps the best story in the book is the one about which there is most -doubt. I refer to the well-known and often-quoted account of the first -night of ‘She Stoops to Conquer,’ and of the famous band of _claqueurs_ -who early took their places, determined to see the play through. -Cumberland tells the story with the irresistible verve of falsehood--of -the early dinner at the ‘Shakespeare Tavern,’ ‘where Samuel Johnson -took the chair at the head of a long table, and was the life and soul -of the corps’; of the guests assembled, including Fitzherbert (who -had committed suicide at an earlier date), of the adjournment to the -theatre with Adam Drummond of amiable memory, who ‘was gifted by Nature -with the most sonorous and at the same time the most contagious laugh -that ever echoed from the human lungs. The neighing of the horse of the -son of Hystaspes was a whisper to it; the whole thunder of the theatre -could not drown it’; and on the story rolls. - -It has to be given up. There was a dinner, but it is doubtful whether -Cumberland was at it; and as for the proceedings at the theatre, others -who were there have pronounced Cumberland’s story a bit of _blague_. -According to the newspapers of the day, Cumberland, instead of sitting -by Drummond’s side and telling him when to laugh in his peculiar -manner, was visibly chagrined by the success of the piece, and as -wretched as any man could well be. But Adam Drummond must have been a -reality. His laugh still echoes in one’s ears. - - - - -ALEXANDER KNOX AND THOMAS DE QUINCEY. - - -Amongst the many _bizarre_ things that attended the events which led -up to the Act of Union between Great Britain and Ireland, was the -circumstance that Lord Castlereagh’s private secretary during the -period should have been that Mr. Alexander Knox whose Remains in four -rather doleful volumes were once cherished by a certain school of -theologians. - -Mr. Knox was a man of great piety, some learning, and of the utmost -simplicity of life and manners. He was one of the first of our moderns -to be enamoured of primitive Christian times, and to seek to avoid the -claims of Rome upon the allegiance of all Catholic-minded souls by -hooking himself on to a period prior to the full development of those -claims. - -It is no doubt true that, for a long time past, Nonconformists of -different kinds have boldly asserted that they were primitive; but it -must be owned that they have never taken the least pains to ascertain -the actual facts of the case. Now, Mr. Knox took great pains to be -primitive. Whether he succeeded it is not for me to say, but at all -events he went so far on his way to success as to leave off being -modern both in his ways of thought and in his judgments of men and -books. - -English Nonconformity has produced many hundreds of volumes of -biography and Remains, but there is never a primitive one amongst them. -To anyone who may wish to know what it is to be primitive, there is -but one answer: Read the Remains of Alexander Knox. Be careful to get -the right Knox. There was one Vicesimus, who is much better known than -Alexander, and at least as readable, but (and this is the whole point) -not at all primitive. - -And it was this primitive, apostolic Mr. Knox who is held by some to -be the real parent of the Tractarian movement, whose correspondence is -almost entirely religious, and whose whole character stands revealed -in his Remains as that of a man without guile, and as obstinate as a -mule, who was chosen at a most critical moment of political history to -share the guilty secrets of Mr. Pitt and Lord Castlereagh. It seems -preposterous. - -The one and only thing in Knox’s Remains of the least interest to -people who are not primitive, is a letter addressed to him by Lord -Castlereagh, written after the completion of the Union, and suggesting -to him the propriety of his undertaking the task of writing the history -of that event--the reason being his thorough knowledge of all the -circumstances of the case. - -Such a letter bids us pause. - -By this time we know well enough how the Act of Union was carried. By -bribery and corruption. Nobody has ever denied it for the last fifty -years. It has been in the school text-books for generations. But the -point is, Did Mr. Knox know? If he did, it must seem to all who have -read his Remains--and it is worth while reading them only to enjoy the -sensation--a most marvellous thing. It would not be more marvellous had -we learnt from Canon Liddon’s long-looked-for volumes that Mr. Pusey -was Mr. Disraeli’s adviser in all matters relating to the disposition -of the secret service money and the Tory election funds. If Knox did -not know anything about it, how was he kept in ignorance, how was he -sheltered from the greedy Irish peers and borough-mongers and all the -other impecunious rascals who had the vending of a nation? And what are -we to think of the foresight of Castlereagh, who secured for himself -such a secretary in order that, after all was over, Mr. Knox might sit -down and in all innocence become the historian of proceedings of which -he had been allowed to know nothing, but which sorely needed the cloak -of a holy life and conversation to cover up their sores? - -It is an odd problem. For my part, I believe in Knox’s innocence. -Trying very hard to be worthy of the second century was not good -training for seeing his way through the fag-end of the eighteenth. -Apart from this, it is amazing what some men will not see. I recall but -will not quote the brisk retort of Mrs. Saddletree at her husband’s -expense, which relates to the incapacity of that learned saddler to see -what was going on under his nose. The test was a severe one, but we -have no doubt whatever that Alexander Knox could have stood it as well -as Mr. Bartoline Saddletree. - -Another strange incident connected with the same event is that the -final ratification of the Act of Union in Dublin was witnessed by, -and made, as it could not fail to do, a great impression upon, the -most accomplished rhetorical writer of our time. De Quincey, then a -precocious boy of fifteen, happened by a lucky chance to be in Ireland -at the time, and as the guest of Lord Altamount, an Irish peer, he had -every opportunity both of seeing the sight and acquainting himself -with the feelings of some of the leading actors in the play, call it -tragedy, comedy, or farce, as you please. - -De Quincey’s account of the scene, and his two chapters on the Irish -Rebellion, are to be found in the first volume of his ‘Autobiographic -Sketches.’ - -De Quincey hints that both Lord Altamount and his son, ‘who had an -Irish heart,’ would have been glad if at the very last moment the -populace had stepped in between Mr. Pitt and the Irish peers and -commoners and compelled the two Houses to perpetuate themselves. -Internally, says De Quincey, they would have laughed. But it was -written otherwise in Heaven’s Chancery, and ‘the Bill received the -Royal assent without a muttering or a whispering or the protesting echo -of a sigh.... One person only I remarked whose features were suddenly -illuminated by a smile--a sarcastic smile, as I read it--which, -however, might be all fancy. It was Lord Castlereagh.’ Can it possibly -be that this was the very moment when it occurred to his lordship’s -mind that Mr. Knox was the man to be the historian of the event thus -concluded? - -The new edition of De Quincey’s writings has naturally provoked many -critics to attempt to do for him what he was fond enough of doing for -others, often to their dismay--to give some account, that is, of the -author and the man. De Quincey does not lend himself to this familiar -treatment. He eludes analysis and baffles description. His great fault -as an author is best described, in the decayed language of the equity -draughtsman, as multifariousness. His style lacks the charm of economy, -and his workmanship the dignity of concentration. - -A literary spendthrift is, however, a very endurable sinner in these -stingy days. Mr. Mill speaks somewhere (I think in his ‘Political -Economy’) almost sorrowfully of De Quincey’s strange habit of -scattering fine thoughts up and down his merely miscellaneous writings. -The habit has ceased to afflict the reader. The fine maxim ‘Waste -not, want not,’ is now inscribed over the desks of our miscellaneous -writers. Such extravagance as De Quincey’s, as it is not likely to be -repeated, need not be too severely reprobated. - -De Quincey’s magnificence, the apparent boundlessness of his -information, the liberties he takes, relying upon his mastery of -language, his sportiveness and freakish fancies, make him the idol of -all hobbledehoys of a literary turn. By them his sixteen volumes are -greedily devoured. Happy the country, one is tempted to exclaim, that -has such reading to offer its young men and maidens! - -The discovery that De Quincey wrote something else besides the ‘Opium -Eater’ marks a red-letter day in many a young life. The papers on -‘The Twelve Cæsars’; on the ‘Essenes and Secret Societies’; on ‘Judas -Iscariot,’ ‘Cicero,’ and ‘Richard Bentley’; ‘The Spanish Nun,’ the -‘Female Infidel,’ the ‘Tartars,’ seemed the very climax of literary -well-doing, and to unite the learning of the schools with all the fancy -of the poets and the wit of the world. - -As one grows older, one grows sterner--with others. - - - ‘Prune thou thy words, the thoughts control - That o’er thee swell and throng; - They will condense within thy soul, - And change to purpose strong.’ - - -The lines have a literary as well as a moral value. - -But though paradox may cease to charm, and a tutored intellect seem to -sober age a better guide than a lawless fancy, and a chastened style a -more comfortable thing than impassioned prose and pages of _bravura_, -still, after all, ‘the days of our youth are the days of our glory,’ -and for a reader who is both young and eager the Selections Grave and -Gay of Thomas de Quincey will always be above criticism, and belong to -the realm of rapture. - - - - -HANNAH MORE. - - -An ingenious friend of mine, who has collected a library in which every -book is either a masterpiece of wit or a miracle of rarity, found great -fault with me the other day for adding to my motley heap the writings -of Mrs. Hannah More. In vain I pleaded I had given but eight shillings -and sixpence for the nineteen volumes, neatly bound and lettered on -the back. He was not thinking, so he protested, of my purse, but of my -taste, and he went away, spurning the gravel under his feet, irritated -that there should be such men as I. - -I, however, am prepared to brazen it out. I freely admit that the -celebrated Mrs. Hannah More is one of the most detestable writers that -ever held a pen. She flounders like a huge conger-eel in an ocean of -dingy morality. She may have been a wit in her youth, though I am -not aware of any evidence of it--certainly her poem, ‘Bas Bleu,’ is -none--but for all the rest of her days, and they were many, she was -an encyclopædia of all literary vices. You may search her nineteen -volumes through without lighting upon one original thought, one happy -phrase. Her religion lacks reality. Not a single expression of genuine -piety, of heart-felt emotion, ever escapes her lips. She is never -pathetic, never terrible. Her creed is powerless either to attract the -well-disposed or make the guilty tremble. No naughty child ever read -‘The Fairchild Family’ or ‘Stories from the Church Catechism’ without -quaking and quivering like a short-haired puppy after a ducking; but, -then, Mrs. Sherwood was a woman of genius, whilst Mrs. Hannah More was -a pompous failure. - -Still, she has a merit of her own, just enough to enable a middle-aged -man to chew the cud of reflection as he hastily turns her endless -pages. She is an explanatory author, helping you to understand how -sundry people who were old when you were young came to be the folk they -were, and to have the books upon their shelves they had. - -Hannah More was the first, and I trust the worst, of a large -class--‘the ugliest of her daughters Hannah,’ if I may parody a poet -she affected to admire. This class may be imperfectly described as -‘the well-to-do Christian.’ It inhabited snug places in the country, -and kept an excellent, if not dainty, table. The money it saved in -a ball-room it spent upon a greenhouse. Its horses were fat, and -its coachman invariably present at family prayers. Its pet virtue -was Church twice on Sunday, and its peculiar horrors theatrical -entertainments, dancing, and threepenny points. Outside its garden -wall lived the poor who, if virtuous, were for ever curtsying to the -ground or wearing neat uniforms, except when expiring upon truckle-beds -beseeching God to bless the young ladies of The Grange or the Manor -House, as the case might be. - -As a book ‘Cœlebs in Search of a Wife’ is as odious as it is -absurd--yet for the reason already assigned it may be read with a -certain curiosity--but as it would be cruelty to attempt to make good -my point by quotation, I must leave it as it is. - -It is characteristic of the unreality of Hannah More that she prefers -Akenside to Cowper, despite the latter’s superior piety. Cowper’s -sincerity and pungent satire frightened her; the verbosity of Akenside -was much to her mind: - -‘Sir John is a passionate lover of poetry, in which he has a -fine taste. He read it [a passage from Akenside’s “Pleasures of -Imagination”] with much spirit and feeling, especially these truly -classical lines: - - - ‘“_Mind--mind_ alone; bear witness, earth and heaven, - The living fountains in itself contains - Of Beauteous and Sublime; here hand in hand - Sit paramount the graces; here enthroned - Celestial Venus, with divinest airs, - Invites the soul to never-fading joy.” - - -‘“The reputation of this exquisite passage,” said he, laying down the -book, “is established by the consenting suffrage of all men of taste, -though, by the critical countenance you are beginning to put on you -look as if you had a mind to attack it.” - -‘“So far from it,” said I [Cœlebs], “_that I know nothing more splendid -in the whole mass of our poetry_.”’ - -Miss More had an odd life before she underwent what she calls a -‘revolution in her sentiments,’ a revolution, however, which I fear -left her heart of hearts unchanged. She consorted with wits, though -always, be it fairly admitted, on terms of decorum. She wrote three -tragedies, which were not rejected as they deserved to be, but duly -appeared on the boards of London and Bath with prologues and epilogues -by Garrick and by Sheridan. She dined and supped and made merry. She -had a prodigious flirtation with Dr. Johnson, who called her a saucy -girl, albeit she was thirty-seven; and once, for there was no end to -his waggery, lamented she had not married Chatterton, ‘that posterity -might have seen a propagation of poets.’ The good doctor, however, -sickened of her flattery, and one of the rudest speeches even he ever -made was addressed to her. - -After Johnson’s death Hannah met Boswell, full of his intended book -which she did her best to spoil with her oily fatuity. Said she to -Boswell, ‘I beseech your tenderness for our virtuous and most revered -departed friend; I beg you will mitigate some of his asperities,’ to -which diabolical counsel the Inimitable replied roughly, ‘He would not -cut off his claws nor make a tiger a cat to please anybody.’ - -The most moving incident in Hannah More’s life occurred near its close, -and when she was a lone, lorn woman--her sisters Mary, Betty, Sally, -and Patty having all predeceased her. She and they had long lived in -a nice house or ‘place’ called Barley Wood, in the neighbourhood of -Bristol, and here her sisters one after another died, leaving poor -Hannah in solitary grandeur to the tender mercies of Mrs. Susan, the -housekeeper; Miss Teddy, the lady’s-maid; Mrs. Rebecca, the housemaid; -Mrs. Jane, the cook; Miss Sally, the scullion; Mr. Timothy, the -coachman; Mr. John, the gardener; and Mr. Tom, the gardener’s man. -Eight servants and one aged pilgrim--of such was the household of -Barley Wood! - -Outwardly decorum reigned. Poor Miss More fondly imagined her domestics -doted on her, and that they joyfully obeyed her laws. It was the -practice at family prayer for each of the servants to repeat a text. -Visitors were much impressed, and went away delighted. But like so many -other things on this round world, it was all hollow. These menials were -not what they seemed. - -After Miss More had heard them say their texts and had gone to bed, -their day began. They gave parties to the servants and tradespeople -of the vicinity (pleasing word), and at last, in mere superfluity of -naughtiness, hired a large room a mile off and issued invitations to -a great ball. This undid them. There happened to be at Barley Wood on -the very night of the dance a vigilant visitor who had her suspicions, -and who accordingly kept watch and ward. She heard the texts, but she -did not go to bed, and from her window she saw the whole household, -under cover of night, steal off to their promiscuous friskings, leaving -behind them poor Miss Sally only, whose sad duty it was to let them in -the next morning, which she duly performed. - -Friends were called in, and grave consultations held, and in the end -Miss More was told how she had been wounded in her own household. It -was sore news; she bore it well, wisely determined to quit Barley Wood -once and for ever, and live, as a decent old lady should, in a terrace -in Clifton. The wicked servants were not told of this resolve until -the actual moment of departure had arrived, when they were summoned -into the drawing-room, where they found their mistress, and a company -of friends. In feeling tones Miss Hannah More upbraided them for their -unfaithfulness. ‘You have driven me,’ said she, ‘from my own home, and -forced me to seek a refuge among strangers.’ So saying, she stepped -into her carriage and was driven away. There is surely something -Miltonic about this scene, which is, at all events, better than -anything in Akenside’s ‘Pleasures of Imagination.’ - -The old lady was of course much happier at No. 4, Windsor Terrace, -Clifton, than she had been at Barley Wood. She was eighty-three years -of age when she took up house there, and eighty-nine when she died, -which she did on the 1st of September, 1833. I am indebted for these -melancholy--and, I believe, veracious--particulars to that amusing book -of Joseph Cottle’s called ‘Early Recollections, chiefly relating to the -late Samuel Taylor Coleridge during his long residence in Bristol.’ - -I still maintain that Hannah More’s works in nineteen volumes are worth -eight shillings and sixpence. - - - - -MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. - - -Miss Mathilde Blind, in the introduction to her animated and admirable -translation of the now notorious ‘Journal of Marie Bashkirtseff,’ asks -an exceedingly relevant question--namely, ‘Is it well or is it ill done -to make the world our father confessor?’ Miss Blind does not answer her -own question, but passes on her way content with the observation that, -be it well or ill done, it is supremely interesting. Translators have, -indeed, no occasion to worry about such inquiries. It is hard enough -for them to make their author speak another language than his own, -without stopping to ask whether he ought to have spoken at all. Their -business is to make their author known. As for the author himself, he, -of course, has a responsibility; but, as a rule, he is only thinking -of himself, and only anxious to excite interest in that subject. If he -succeeds in doing this, he is indifferent to everything else. And in -this he is encouraged by the world. - -Burns, in his exuberant generosity, was sure that it could afford small -pleasure - - - ‘Even to a deil - To skelp and scaud poor dogs like me, - And hear us squeal;’ - - -but whatever may be the devil’s taste, there is nothing the reading -public like better than to hear the squeal of some self-torturing atom -of humanity. And, as the atoms have found this out, a good deal of -squealing may be confidently anticipated. - -The eclipse of faith has not proved fatal by any means to the -instinct of confession. There is a noticeable desire to make humanity -or the reading public our residuary legatee, to endow it with our -experiences, to enrich it with our egotisms, to strip ourselves bare -in the market-place--if not for the edification, at all events for the -amusement, of man. All this is accomplished by autobiography. We then -become interesting, probably for the first time, as, to employ Mlle. -Bashkirtseff’s language, ‘documents of human nature.’ - -The metaphor carries us far. To falsify documents by addition, -or to garble them by omission, is an offence of grave character, -though of frequent occurrence. Is there, then, to be no reticence in -autobiography? Are the documents of human nature to be printed at -length? - -These are questions which each autobiographer must settle for himself. -If what is published is interesting for any reason whatsoever, be it -the work of pious sincerity or diseased self-consciousness, the world -will read it, and either applaud the piety or ridicule the absurdity of -the author. If it is not interesting it will not be read. - -Therefore, to consider the ethics of autobiography is to condemn -yourself to the academy. ‘Rousseau’s Confessions’ ought never to have -been written; but written they were, and read they will ever be. But -as a pastime moralizing has a rare charm. We cannot always be reading -immoral masterpieces. A time comes when inaction is pleasant, and when -it is soothing to hear mild accents murmuring ‘Thou shalt not.’ For a -moment, then, let the point remain under consideration. - -The ethics of autobiography are, in my judgment, admirably summed up -by George Eliot, in a passage in ‘Theophrastus Such,’ a book which, we -were once assured, well-nigh destroyed the reputation of its author, -but which would certainly have established that of most living writers -upon a surer foundation than they at present occupy. George Eliot says: - -‘In all autobiography there is, nay, ought to be, an incompleteness -which may have the effect of falsity. We are each of us bound to -reticence by the piety we owe to those who have been nearest to us, -and have had a mingled influence over our lives--by the fellow-feeling -which should restrain us from turning our volunteered and picked -confessions into an act of accusation against others who have no chance -of vindicating themselves, and, most of all, by that reverence for -the higher efforts of our common nature which commands us to bury -its lowest faculties, its invincible remnants of the brute, its most -agonizing struggle with temptation, in unbroken silence.’ - -All this is surely sound morality and good manners, but it is not the -morality or the manners of Mlle. Marie Bashkirtseff, who was always -ready to barter everything for something she called Fame. - -‘If I don’t win fame,’ says she over and over again, ‘I will kill -myself.’ - -Miss Blind is, no doubt, correct in her assertion that, as a painter, -Mlle. Bashkirtseff’s strong point was expression. Certainly, she had a -great gift that way with her pen. Amidst a mass of greedy utterances, -esurient longings, commonplace ejaculations, and unlovely revelations, -passages occur in this journal which bid us hold. For all her -boastings, her sincerity is not always obvious, but it speaks plainly -through each one of the following words: - - - ‘What is there in us, that, in spite of plausible arguments--in - spite of the consciousness that all leads to _nothing_--we should - still grumble? I know that, like everyone else, I am going on - towards death and nothingness. I weigh the circumstances of life, - and, whatever they may be, they appear to me miserably vain, and, - for all that, I cannot resign myself. Then, it must be a force; it - must be a _something_--not merely “a passage,” a certain period - of time, which matters little whether it is spent in a palace or - in a cellar; there is, then, something stronger, truer, than our - foolish phrases about it all. It is life, in short; not merely a - passage--an unprofitable misery--but life, all that we hold most - dear, all that we call ours, in short. - - ‘People say it is nothing, because we do not possess eternity. - Ah! the fools. Life is ourselves, it is ours, it is all that we - possess; how, then, is it possible to say that it is _nothing_? If - this is _nothing_, show me _something_.’ - - -To deride life is indeed foolish. Prosperous people are apt to do so, -whether their prosperity be of this world or anticipated in the next. -The rich man bids the poor man lead an abstemious life in his youth, -and scorn delights, in order that he may have the wherewithal to spend -a dull old age; but the poor man replies: - -‘Your arrangements have left me nothing but my youth. I will enjoy -that, and _you_ shall support me in a dull old age.’ - -To deride life, I repeat, is foolish; but to pity yourself for -having to die is to carry egotism rather too far. This is what Mlle. -Bashkirtseff does. - -‘I am touched myself when I think of my end. No, it seems impossible! -Nice, fifteen years, the three Graces, Rome, the follies of Naples, -painting, ambition, unheard-of hopes--to end in a coffin, without -having had anything, not even love.’ - -Impossible, indeed! There is not much use for that word in the human -comedy. - -Never, surely, before was there a lady so penetrated with her own -personality as the writer of these journals. Her arms and legs, -hips and shoulders, hopes and fears, pictures and future glory, are -all alike scanned, admired, stroked, and pondered over. She reduces -everything to one vast common denominator--herself. She gives two -francs to a starving family. - -‘It was a sight to see the joy, the surprise of these poor creatures. -I hid myself behind the trees. Heaven has never treated me so well; -heaven has never had any of these beneficent fancies.’ - -Heaven had, at all events, never heard the like of this before. Here -is a human creature brought up in what is called the lap of luxury, -wearing purple and fine linen, and fur cloaks worth 2,000 francs, -eating and drinking to repletion, and indulging herself in every fancy; -she divides a handful of coppers amongst five starving persons, and -then retires behind a tree, and calls God to witness that no such -kindness had ever been extended to her. - -When Mlle. Elsnitz, her long-suffering companion--‘young, only -nineteen, unfortunate, in a strange house without a friend’--at last, -after suffering many things, leaves the service, it is recorded: - -‘I could not speak for fear of crying, and I affected a careless look, -but I hope she may have seen.’ - -Seen what? Why, that the carelessness was unreal. A quite sufficient -reparation for months of insolence, in the opinion of Miss Marie. - -It is said that Mlle. Bashkirtseff had a great faculty of enjoyment. -If so, except in the case of books, she hardly makes it felt. Reading -evidently gave her great pleasure; but, though there is a good deal of -rapture about Nature in her journals, it is of an uneasy character. - - - ‘The silence that is in the starry sky, - The sleep that is amongst the lonely hills,’ - - -do not pass into the souls of those whose ambition it is to be greeted -with loud cheers by the whole wide world. - -Whoever is deeply interested in himself always invents a God whom he -can apostrophize on suitable occasions. The existence of this deity -feeds his creator’s vanity. When the world turns a deaf ear to his -broken cries he besieges heaven. The Almighty, so he flatters himself, -cannot escape him. When there is no one else to have recourse to, when -all other means fail, there still remains--God. When your father, and -your mother, and your aunt, and your companion, and your maid, are all -wearied to death by your exhaustless vanity, you have still another -string to your bow. Sometimes, indeed, the strings may get entangled. - -‘Just now, I spoke harshly to my aunt, but I could not help it. She -came in just when I was weeping with my hands over my face, and was -summoning God to attend to me a little.’ - -A book like this makes one wonder what power, human or divine, can -exorcise such a demon of vanity as that which possessed the soul of -this most unhappy girl. Carlyle strove with great energy in ‘Sartor -Resartus’ to compose a spell which should cleave this devil in three. -For a time it worked well and did some mischief, but now the magician’s -wand seems broken. Religion, indeed, can still show her conquests, and, -when we are considering a question like this, seems a fresher thing -than it does when we are reading ‘Lux Mundi.’ - -‘Do you want,’ wrote General Gordon in his journal, ‘to be loved, -respected, and trusted? Then ignore the likes and dislikes of man in -regard to your actions; leave their love for God’s, taking Him only. -You will find that as you do so men will like you; they may despise -some things in you, but they will lean on you, and trust you, and -He will give you the spirit of comforting them. But try to please -men and ignore God, and you will fail miserably and get nothing but -disappointment.’ - -All those who have not yet read these journals, and prefer doing so in -English, should get Miss Blind’s volumes. There they will find this -‘human document’ most vigorously translated into their native tongue. -It, perhaps, sounds better in French. - -One remembers George Eliot’s tale of the lady who tried to repeat in -English the pathetic story of a French mendicant--‘J’ai vu le sang -de mon père’--but failed to excite sympathy, owing to the hopeless -realism of Saxon speech. But though better in French, the journal is -interesting in English. Whether, like the dreadful Dean, you regard man -as an odious race of vermin, or agree with an erecter spirit that he is -a being of infinite capacity, you will find food for your philosophy, -and texts for your sermons, in the ‘Journal of Marie Bashkirtseff.’ - - - - -SIR JOHN VANBRUGH. - - -Jeremy Collier begins his famous and witty, though dreadfully overdone, -‘Short View of the Immorality and Profaneness of the English Stage’ -with the following spirited words: - -‘The business of Plays is to recommend Virtue and discountenance Vice; -to show the Uncertainty of Human Greatness, the sudden turns of Fate, -and the unhappy conclusions of Violence and Injustice; ’tis to expose -the singularities of Pride and Fancy, to make Folly and Falsehood -contemptible, and to bring everything that is ill under Infamy and -Neglect.’ - -He then adds: ‘This design has been oddly pursued by the English -Stage;’ and so he launches his case. - -Sir John Vanbrugh, who fared very badly at the doctor’s hands, -replied--and, on the whole, with great spirit and considerable -success--in a pamphlet entitled ‘A Short Vindication of “The Relapse” -and “The Provok’d Wife” from Immorality and Profaneness.’ In this reply -he strikes out this bold apophthegm: - -‘The business of Comedy is to show people what they should do, by -representing them upon the stage, doing what they should not.’ - -He continues with much good sense: - - - ‘Nor is there any necessity a philosopher should stand by, like - an interpreter at a puppet-show, to explain the moral to the - audience. The mystery is seldom so deep but the pit and boxes - can dive into it, and ’tis their example out of the playhouse - that chiefly influences the galleries. The stage is a glass for - the world to view itself in; people ought, therefore, to see - themselves as they are; if it makes their faces too fair, they - won’t know they are dirty, and, by consequence, will neglect to - wash them. If, therefore, I have showed “Constant” upon the stage - what generally the thing called a fine gentleman is off it, I - think I have done what I should do. I have laid open his vices - as well as his virtues; ’tis the business of the audience to - observe where his flaws lessen his value, and, by considering the - deformity of his blemishes, become sensible how much a finer thing - he would be without them.’ - - -It is impossible to improve upon these instructions; they are -admirable. The only pity is that, as, naturally enough, Sir John wrote -his plays first, and defended them afterwards, he had not bestowed -a thought upon the subject until the angry parson gave him check. -Vanbrugh, like most dramatists of his calibre, wrote to please the -town, without any thought of doing good or harm. The two things he -wanted were money and a reputation for wit. To lecture and scold him as -if he had degraded some high and holy office was ridiculous. Collier -had an excellent case, for there can be no doubt that the dramatists -he squinted at were worse than they had any need to be. But it is -impossible to read Collier’s two small books without a good many pishes -and pshaws! He was a clericalist of an aggressive type. You cannot -withhold your sympathy from Vanbrugh’s remark: - -‘The reader may here be pleased to take notice what this gentleman -would construe profaneness if he were once in the saddle with a good -pair of spurs upon his heels.’ - -Now that Evangelicalism has gone out of fashion, we no longer hear -denunciations of stage-plays. High Church parsons crowd the Lyceum, and -lead the laughter in less dignified if more amusing resorts. But, for -all that, there is a case to be made against the cheerful playhouse, -but not by me. - -As for Sir John Vanbrugh, his two well-known plays, ‘The Relapse’ -and ‘The Provok’d Wife,’ are most excellent reading, Jeremy Collier -notwithstanding. They must be read with the easy tolerance, the amused -benignity, the scornful philosophy of a Christian of the Dr. Johnson -type. You must not probe your laughter deep; you must forget for awhile -your probationary state, and remember that, after all, the thing is -but a play. Sir John has a great deal of wit of that genuine kind which -is free from modishness. He reads freshly. He also has ideas. In ‘The -Provok’d Wife,’ which was acted for the first time in the early part -of 1697, there appears the Philosophy of Clothes (thus forestalling -Swift), and also an early conception of Carlyle’s stupendous image of a -naked House of Lords. This occurs in a conversation between Heartfree -and Constant, which concludes thus: - - - _Heartfree._ Then for her outside--I consider it merely as an - outside--she has a thin, tiffany covering over just such stuff as - you and I are made on. As for her motion, her mien, her air, and - all those tricks, I know they affect you mightily. If you should - see your mistress at a coronation, dragging her peacock’s train, - with all her state and insolence, about her, ’twould strike you - with all the awful thoughts that heaven itself could pretend - to from you; whereas, I turn the whole matter into a jest, and - suppose her strutting in the selfsame stately manner, with nothing - on but her stays and her under, scanty-quilted petticoat. - - _Constant._ Hold thy profane tongue! for I’ll hear no more. - - -‘The Relapse’ must, I think, be pronounced Vanbrugh’s best comedy. Lord -Foppington is a humorous conception, and the whole dialogue is animated -and to the point. One sees where Sheridan got his style. There are more -brains, if less sparkle, in Vanbrugh’s repartees than in Sheridan’s. - - - _Berenthia._ I have had so much discourse with her, that I - believe, were she once cured of her fondness to her husband, the - fortress of her virtue would not be so impregnable as she fancies. - - _Worthy._ What! she runs, I’ll warrant you, into that common - mistake of fond wives, who conclude themselves virtuous because - they can refuse a man they don’t like when they have got one they - do. - - _Berenthia._ True; and, therefore, I think ’tis a presumptuous - thing in a woman to assume the name of virtuous till she has - heartily hated her husband and been soundly in love with somebody - else. - - -A handsome edition of Vanbrugh’s Plays has recently appeared, edited -by Mr. W. C. Ward (Lawrence and Bullen), who has prepared an excellent -Life of his author. - -Vanbrugh was, as all the world knows, the architect of Blenheim -Palace, as he also was of Castle Howard. He became Comptroller of Works -in the reign of Queen Anne, and was appointed by King George Surveyor -of the Works at Greenwich Hospital, in the neighbourhood of which he -had property of his own. His name is still familiar in the ears of the -respectable inhabitants of Blackheath. But what is mysterious is how -and where he acquired such skill as he possessed in his profession. His -father, Giles Vanbrugh, had nineteen children, of whom thirteen appear -to have lived for some length of time, and of John’s education nothing -precise is known. When nineteen he went into France, where he remained -some years. - -During this period, observes Mr. Ward, ‘it may be presumed he laid the -foundation of that skill in architecture he afterwards so eminently -displayed; at least, there is no subsequent period of his life to -which we can, with equal probability, ascribe his studies in that art.’ - -Later on, Mr. Ward says: - - - ‘The year 1702 presents our author in a new character. Of his - architectural studies we know absolutely nothing, unless we may - accept Swift’s account, who pretends that Vanbrugh acquired the - rudiments of the art by watching children building houses of cards - or clay. But this was probably ironical. However he came by his - skill, in 1702 he stepped into sudden fame as the architect of - Castle Howard.’ - - -It is indeed extraordinary that a man should have undertaken such big -jobs as Castle Howard and Blenheim without leaving any trace whatever -of the means by which he became credited with the power to execute -them. Mr. Pecksniff got an occasional pupil and premium, but, so far -as I know, he never designed so much as a parish pump. Blenheim is -exposed to a good deal of criticism, but nobody can afford to despise -either it or Castle Howard, and it seems certain that the original -plans and elevations of both structures were prepared by the author of -‘The Relapse’ and ‘The Provok’d Wife’ himself. Of course, there may -have been a ghost, but if there had been, the Duchess of Marlborough, -who was soon at loggerheads with her architect, would probably have -dragged it into the light of day. - -The wits made great fun of their distinguished colleague’s feats -in brick and mortar. It was not usually permissible for a literary -gentleman to be anything else, unless, indeed, a divine like Dr. Swift, -whose satirical verses on the small house Vanbrugh built for himself -in Whitehall are well known. They led to a coolness, and no one need -wonder. After the architect’s death the divine apologized and expressed -regret. - -The well-known epigram-- - - - ‘Under this stone, reader, survey - Dead Sir John Vanbrugh’s house of clay - Lie heavy on him, Earth, for he - Laid many heavy loads on thee’-- - - -is the composition of another doctor of divinity--Dr. Abel Evans--and -was probably prompted by envy. - -Amongst other things, Vanbrugh was a Herald, and in that capacity -visited Hanover in 1706, and helped to invest the Electoral Prince, -afterwards George II., with the Order of the Garter. Vanbrugh’s -personality is not clearly revealed to us anywhere, but he appears -to have been a pleasant companion and witty talker. He married late -in life, and of three children only one survived, to be killed at -Fontenoy. He himself died in 1726, in his sixty-third year, of a -quinsy. His widow survived him half a century, thus affording another -proof, if proof be needed, that no man is indispensable. - - - - -JOHN GAY. - - -The first half of the eighteenth century was in England the poet’s -playground. These rhyming gentry had then a status, a claim upon -private munificence and the public purse which has long since been -hopelessly barred. A measure of wit, a tincture of taste, and a -perseverance in demand would in those days secure for the puling Muse -slices of solid pudding whilst in the flesh, and (frequently) sepulture -in the Abbey when all was over. - -What silk-mercer’s apprentice in these hard times, finding a place -behind Messrs. Marshall and Snelgrove’s counter not jumping with his -genius, dare hope by the easy expedient of publishing a pamphlet on -‘The Present State of Wit’ to become domestic steward to a semi-royal -Duchess, and the friend of Mr. Lewis Morris and Mr. Lecky, who are, -I suppose, our nineteenth-century equivalents for Alexander Pope -and Jonathan Swift? Yet such was the happy fate of Gay, who, after -an idle life of undeserved good-fortune and much unmanly repining, -died of an inflammation, in spite of the skilled care of Arbuthnot -and the unwearying solicitude of the Duchess of Queensberry, and was -interred like a peer of the realm in Westminster Abbey, having for his -pall-bearers the Earl of Chesterfield, Viscount Cornbury, the Hon. Mr. -Berkeley, General Dormer, Mr. Gore, and Mr. Pope. Such a recognition of -the author of ‘Fables’ and ‘The Beggars’ Opera’ must make Mr. Besant’s -mouth water. Nor did Gay, despite heavy losses in the South Sea -Company, die a pauper; he left £6,000 behind him, which, as he was wise -enough to die intestate, was divided equally between his two surviving -sisters. - -Gay’s good luck has never forsaken him. He enjoys, if, indeed, the -word be not the hollowest of mockeries, an eternity of fame. It is -true he is not read much, but he is always read a little. He has been -dead more than a century and a half, so it seems likely that a hundred -and fifty years hence he will be read as much as he is now, and, like -a cork, will be observed bobbing on the surface of men’s memories. -Better men and better poets than he have been, and will be, entirely -submerged; but he was happy in his hour, happy even in his name (which -lent itself to rhyme), happy in his nature; and so (such at least is -our prognostication) new editions of Gay’s slender remains will at long -intervals continue to appear and to attract a moment’s attention, even -as Mr. Underhill’s admirable edition of the poems has lately done; -new anthologies will contain his name, the biographical dictionaries -will never quite forget him, his tomb in the Abbey will be stared at -by impressionable youngsters, Pope’s striking epitaph will invite the -fault-finding of the critical, and his own jesting couplet incur the -censure of the moralist, until the day dawns when men cease to forget -themselves in trifles. As soon as they do this, Gay will be forgotten -once and for ever. - -Gay’s one real achievement was ‘The Beggars’ Opera,’ which sprang -from a sprout of Swift’s great brain. A ‘Newgate pastoral might make -an odd, pretty sort of thing,’ so the Dean once remarked to Gay; -and as Mr. Underhill, in his admirable Life of our poet, reminds -us, Swift repeated the suggestion in a letter to Pope: ‘What think -you of a Newgate pastoral among the whores and thieves there?’ But -Swift’s ‘Beggars’ Opera’ would not have hit the public taste between -wind and water as did Gay’s. It would have been much too tremendous -a thing--its sincerity would have damned it past redemption. Even in -Gay’s light hands the thing was risky--a speculation in the public -fancy which could not but be dangerous. Gay knew this well enough, -hence his quotation from Martial (afterwards adopted by the Tennysons -as the motto for ‘Poems by Two Brothers’), _Nos hæc novimus esse -nihil_. Congreve, resting on his laurels, declared it would either take -greatly, or be damned confoundedly. It took, and, indeed, we cannot -wonder. There was a foretaste of Gilbert about it quite enough to make -its fortune in any century. Furthermore, it drove out of England, so -writes an early editor, ‘for that season, the Italian opera, which had -carried all before it for several years.’ It was a triumph for the -home-bred article, and therefore dear to the souls of all true patriots. - -The piece, though as wholly without sincerity as a pastoral by Ambrose -Philips, a thing merely of the footlights, entirely shorn of a single -one of the rays which glorify lawlessness in Burns’s ‘Jolly Beggars,’ -yet manages through the medium of the songs to convey a pleasing though -absurd sentimentality; and there is, perhaps, noticeable throughout a -slight--a very slight--flavour of what is cantingly but conveniently -called ‘the Revolution,’ which imparts a slender interest. - -‘The Beggars’ Opera’ startled the propriety of that strange -institution, the Church of England--a seminary of true religion which -had left the task of protesting against the foulness of Dryden and -Wycherley and the unscrupulous wit of Congreve and Vanbrugh to the -hands of non-jurors like Collier and Law, but which, speaking, we -suppose, in the interests of property, raised a warning voice when a -comic opera made fun, not of marriage vows, but of highway robbery. -Dr. Herring, afterwards Archbishop of Canterbury, plucked up courage -to preach against ‘The Beggars’ Opera’ before the Court, but the Head -of the Church paid no attention to the divine, and, with the Queen and -all the princesses, attended the twenty-first representation. The piece -brought good luck all round. ‘Everybody,’ so Mr. Underhill assures us, -‘connected with the theatre (Lincoln’s Inn Fields), from the principal -performer down to the box-keepers, got a benefit,’ and Miss Lavinia -Fenton, who played Polly Peachum, lived to become Duchess of Bolton; -whilst Hogarth painted no less than three pictures of the celebrated -scene, ‘How happy could I be with either--were t’other dear charmer -away.’ - -Dr. Johnson, in his ‘Life of Gay,’ deals scornfully with the absurd -notion that robbers were multiplied by the popularity of ‘The Beggars’ -Opera.’ ‘It is not likely to do good,’ says the Doctor, ‘nor can it be -conceived, without more speculation than life requires or admits, to be -productive of much evil.’ The Church of England might as well have held -its tongue. - -Gay, flushed with success, was not long in producing a sequel called -‘Polly,’ which, however, as it was supposed to offend, not against -morality, which it undoubtedly did, but against Sir Robert Walpole, -was prohibited. ‘Polly’ was printed, and, being prohibited, had a -great sale. It is an exceedingly nasty piece, not unworthy of one of -the three authors who between them produced that stupidest of farces, -‘Three Hours after Marriage.’ - -Gay’s third opera, ‘Achilles,’ was produced at Covent Garden after his -death. One does not need to be a classical purist to be offended at the -sight of ‘Achilles’ upon a stage, singing doggerel verses to the tune -of ‘Butter’d Pease,’ or at hearing Ajax exclaim: - - - ‘Honour called me to the task, - No matter for explaining, - ’Tis a fresh affront to ask - A man of honour’s meaning.’ - - -This vulgar and idiotic stuff ran twenty nights. - -Gay’s best-known poetical pieces are his ‘Fables,’ and his undoubtedly -interesting, though intrinsically dull ‘Trivia; or, The Art of Walking -the Streets of London,’ though for our own part we would as lief read -his ‘Shepherds’ Week’ as anything else Gay has ever written. - -The ‘Fables’ are light and lively, and might safely be recommended -to all who are fond of an easy quotation. To lay them down is never -difficult, and if, after having done so, Swift’s ‘Confession of the -Beasts’ is taken up, how vast the difference! There are, we know, those -in whose nature there is too much of the milk of human kindness to -enable them to enjoy Swift when he shows his teeth; but however this -may be, we confess, if we are to read at all, we must prefer Swift’s -‘Beasts’ Confession’ to all the sixty-five fables of Gay put together. - - - ‘The Swine with contrite heart allow’d - His shape and beauty made him proud - In diet was perhaps too nice, - But gluttony was ne’er his vice; - In every turn of life content - And meekly took what fortune sent. - Inquire through all the parish round, - A better neighbour ne’er was found. - His vigilance might some displease; - ’Tis true he hated sloth like pease. - - ‘The Chaplain vows he cannot fawn, - Though it would raise him to the lawn. - He passed his hours among his books, - You find it in his meagre looks. - He might if he were worldly wise - Preferment get and spare his eyes; - But owns he has a stubborn spirit - That made him trust alone to merit; - Would rise by merit to promotion. - Alas! a mere chimeric notion.’ - - -Gay was found pleasing by his friends, and had, we must believe, a kind -heart. Swift, who was a nice observer in such matters, in his famous -poem on his own death, assigns Gay a week in which to grieve: - - - ‘Poor Pope would grieve a month, and Gay - A week, and Arbuthnot a day; - St. John himself will scarce forbear - To bite his pen and drop a tear; - The rest will give a shrug and cry, - “I’m sorry, but we all must die.”’ - - -It is a matter of notoriety that Gay was very fat and fond of eating. He -is, as we have already said, buried in Westminster Abbey, over against -Chaucer. When all the rubbish is carted away from the Abbey to make -room for the great men and women of the twentieth century, Gay will -probably be accounted just good enough to remain where he is. He always -was a lucky fellow, though he had not the grace to think so. - - - - -ROGER NORTH’S AUTOBIOGRAPHY. - - -The Cambridge wit who some vast amount of years ago sang of Bohn’s -publications, ‘so useful to the student of Latin and Greek,’ hit with -unerring precision the main characteristic of those very numerous -volumes. Utility was the badge of all that tribe, save, indeed, of -those woeful ‘Extra Volumes’ which are as much out of place amongst -their grave brethren as John Knox at a ballet. There was something -in the binding of Messrs. Bohn’s books which was austere, and even -forbidding; their excellence, their authority, could not be denied by -even a youthful desperado, but reading them always wore the stern -aspect of duty. The binding had undoubtedly a good deal to do with -this. It has now been discarded by Messrs. George Bell and Sons, the -present proprietors, in favour of brighter colours. The difference thus -effected is enormous. The old binding is kept in stock because, so we -are told, ‘it is endeared to many book-lovers by association.’ The -piety of Messrs. Bell has misled them. No book-lover, we feel certain, -ever held one of Messrs. Bohn’s publications in his hands except to -read it. - -A valuable addition has lately been made to the ‘Standard Library’ by -the publication--in three bright and cheerful volumes--of Roger North’s -well-known ‘Lives of the Norths,’ and also--and this practically for -the first time--of Roger North’s Autobiography, a book unknown to -Macaulay, and which he would have read with fierce interest, bludgeon -in hand, having no love for the family. - -Dr. Jessopp, who edits the volumes with his accustomed skill, mentions -in the Preface how the manuscript of the Autobiography belonged to -the late Mr. Crossley, of Manchester, and was sold after the death of -that bibliophile, in 1883, and four years later printed for private -circulation. It now comes before the general public. It is not long, -and deserves attention. The style is gritty and the story far from -exciting, but the book is interesting, particularly for lawyers, a -deserving class of readers for whose special entertainment small care -is usually taken. - -Roger North was born at Tostock, in Suffolk, in 1653--the youngest of -his brothers. Never was man more of a younger brother than he. This -book of his might be called ‘The Autobiography of a Younger Brother.’ -The elder brother was, of course, Francis, afterwards Lord Guilford, a -well-hated man, both in his own day and after it, but who at all events -looked well after Roger, who was some sixteen years his junior. - -In 1669 Roger North was admitted a student of the Middle Temple, -Francis being then a Bencher of that learned society. Roger had -chambers on the west side of Middle Temple Lane, and £10 wherewith to -furnish them and buy a gown, and other necessaries. He says it was not -enough, but that he managed to make it serve. His excellent mother, -though she had some ten children and a difficult husband, produced £30, -with which he bought law books. His father allowed him £40 a year, and -he had his big brother at hand to help him out of debt now and again. - -He was, we feel as we read, a little uneasy under his brother’s eye. -The elder North had a disagreeable fashion of putting ‘little contempts -upon his brother,’ and a way of raising his own character by depressing -Roger’s, which was hard to bear. But Roger North bore it bravely; he -meant sticking to his brother, and stick he did. In five years he saw -Francis become King’s Counsel, Solicitor, and Attorney-General. ‘If he -should die, writes Roger, ‘I am lost.’ But Francis did not die, which -was as well, for he was much better suited for this world than the next. - -Roger North was no great student of the law. He was fond of -mathematics, optics, mechanics, architecture, music, and of sailing a -small yacht--given him by Mr. Windham, of Felbrigge--on the Thames; and -he gives in his Autobiography interesting accounts of these pastimes. -He was very anxious indeed to get on and make money, but he relied more -upon his brother than upon either his own brains or his own industry. - -In 1674 Francis North became Chief Justice of the Common Pleas, -succeeding Sir John Vaughan, the friend of Selden; and Roger at once -got himself called to the Bar, and thenceforward, so far as possible, -whenever Francis was on the Bench, there was Roger pleading before him. -Indeed, it went much further than this. ‘I kept so closely to him that -I can safely say I saw him abed every night without intermission for -divers years together, which enables me to contradict the malicious -report a relation raised of him, that he kept a mistress as the mode -of that time was.’ The morals of a Chief Justice two centuries after -his death having no personal concern for this generation, I feel -free to confess that I am rather sorry for Francis with Roger ever -by his side in this unpleasantly pertinacious fashion. The younger -North, so he tells us, always drove down to Westminster with the Chief -Justice, and he frankly admits that his chief _appui_ was his brother’s -character, fame, and interest. Not being a Serjeant, Roger could not -actually practise in the Common Pleas, but on various circuits, at -the Guildhall, at the Treasury, and wherever else he could lawfully -go before the Chief Justice, there Roger went and got a business -together. He also made money, sometimes as much as £9 a day, from -court-keeping--that is, attending manor courts. This was a device of -his elder brother’s, who used to practise it before he was called to -the Bar. It savours of pettifogging. However, it seems in Roger’s case -to have led to his obtaining the patent office of Temporal Steward to -the See of Canterbury, to which he had the courage to stick after the -deprivation of Archbishop Sancroft. This dogged devotion to the Church -redeems North’s life from a commonplacedness which would otherwise be -hopeless. The Archbishop left his faithful steward £20 for a ring, but -North preferred, like a wise man, to buy books, which he had bound in -the Archbishop’s manner. - -In 1682 Roger North ‘took silk,’ as the phrase now goes, and became one -of the Attorney-General’s devils, in which capacity his name is to be -found in the reports of the trial of Lord William Russell. What he says -about that trial in the Autobiography is just what might be expected -from an Attorney-General’s devil--that is, that never before was a -State trial conducted with such candour and fairness. He admits that -this is not the judgment of the world; but then, says he, ‘the world -never did nor will understand its true good, or reward, encourage, or -endure its true patriots and friends.’ - -At the end of 1683 Francis North came home one night with no less -remarkable a companion in his coach than the Great Seal. Roger -instantly transposed himself to the Court of Chancery, where he began -coining money. ‘My whole study,’ he says, ‘is causes and motions.’ He -found it hard work, but he buckled to, and boasts--like so many of -his brethren, alive as well as dead--that he, at all events, always -read his briefs. In the first year his fees amounted to £4,000, in -the second to nearly as much, but in the third there was a falling -off, owing to a smaller quantity of business in the Court. A new Lord -Keeper was always the occasion of the rehearing of old causes. The -defeated litigants wished to try their luck before the new man. - -North was at first astonished with the size of the fees he was offered; -he even refused them, thinking them bribes: ‘but my fellow-practisers’ -conversation soon cured me of that nicety.’ And yet the biggest fee he -ever got was twenty guineas. Ten guineas was the usual fee on a ‘huge’ -brief, and five ‘in the better sort of causes.’ In ordinary cases Roger -North would take two or three guineas, and one guinea for motions and -defences. - -In the Long Vacations Roger still stuck to his brother, who, no doubt, -found him useful. Thus when the Mayor, Aldermen, and Council of Banbury -came over to Wroxton to pay their respects to the Lord Keeper, they -were handed over to the charge of Roger, who walked them all over -the house to show the rooms, and then made them drunk at dinner ‘and -dismissed them to their lodgings in ditches homeward bound.’ But the -effort was too much for him, and no sooner were they gone than he had -to lie down, all on fire, upon the ground, from which he rose very sick -and scarce recovered in some days. As a rule he was a most temperate -man, and hated the custom and extravagance of drinking. He had not -enough understanding to obfuscate it by drink. - -All went well with the brothers until the death of Charles II. Then the -horizon grew troubled--but still Roger was being talked of as a Baron -of the Exchequer, when the Lord Keeper died on September 5, 1685. With -him ended the public life of his younger brother. Roger North was only -thirty-two. He was a King’s Counsel, and in considerable practice, but -he had not the will--perhaps he had not the force--to stand alone. At -the Revolution he became a non-juror, and retired into the country. His -Autobiography also ceases with his brother’s death. - -He had much private family business to transact, and in 1690 he bought -the Rougham estate in Norfolk, where he carried on building and -planting on a considerable scale. He married and had children, bought -books, restored the parish church, and finally died on March 1, 1734, -in his eighty-first year. - -Dr. Jessopp tells us very little is left of Roger North--his house has -been pulled down, his trees pulled up, and his books dispersed. But his -Lives of his three brothers, and now his own Autobiography, will keep -his memory green. There is something about him one rather likes, though -were we asked what it is, we should have no answer ready. - - - - -BOOKS OLD AND NEW. - - -Now that our century has entered upon its last decade, and draws near -the hour which will despatch it to join its too frequently and most -unjustly despised predecessor, it is pleasing to note how well it -has learnt to play the old man’s part. One has only to compare the -_Edinburgh Review_ of, say, October, 1807, with its last number, to -appreciate the change that has come over us. Cocksureness, once the -badge of the tribe of critics, is banished to the schoolroom. The -hearty hatreds of our early days would ill befit a death-bed. A keen -critic has observed what a noisy place England used to be. Everybody -cried out loud in the market-place, in the Senate-house, in the Law -Courts, in the Reviews and Magazines. In the year 1845 the _Times_ -newspaper incurred the heavy and doubtless the just censure of the -Oxford Union for its unprincipled tone as shown in its ‘violent -attempts to foment agitation as well by inflammatory articles as by -the artifices of correspondents.’ How different it now is! We all move -about as it were in list slippers. Our watchword is ‘Hush!’ Dickens -tells us how, at Hone’s funeral, Cruikshank, being annoyed at some of -the observations of the officiating minister, whispered in Dickens’ -ear as they both moved to kneel at prayer, ‘If this wasn’t a funeral I -would punch his head.’ It was a commendable restraint. We are now, all -of us, exercising it. - -A gloomy view is being generally taken of our literary future in the -next century. Poetry, it is pretty generally agreed, has died with -Lord Tennyson. Who, it is said, can take any pride or pleasure in the -nineties, whose memory can carry him back to the sixties? What days -those were that gave us brand-new from the press ‘Philip’ and ‘The Four -Georges,’ ‘The Mill on the Floss’ and ‘Silas Marner,’ ‘Evan Harrington’ -and ‘Rhoda Fleming,’ ‘Maud,’ ‘The Idylls of the King,’ and ‘Dramatis -Personæ,’ Mr. Arnold’s New Poems, the ‘Apologia pro Vitâ Suâ,’ and -‘Verses on Various Occasions,’ four volumes of ‘Frederick the Great,’ -and ‘The Origin of Species’! One wonders in the retrospect how human -stupidity was proof against such an onslaught of wit, such a shower of -golden fancies. Why did not Folly’s fortress fall? We know it did not, -for it is standing yet. Nor has any particular halo gathered round the -sixties--which, indeed, were no better than the fifties or the forties. - -From what source, so ask ‘the frosty pows,’ are you who call yourselves -‘jolly candidates’ for 1900, going to get your supplies? Where are -your markets? Who will crowd the theatre on your opening nights? What -well-graced actors will then cross your stage? Your boys and girls -will be well provided for, one can see that. Story-books and handbooks -will jostle for supremacy; but your men and women, all a-hungered, how -are you going to feed them and keep their tempers sweet? It is not a -question of side dishes, but of joints. Sermons and sonnets, and even -‘clergy-poets,’ may be counted upon, but they will only affront the -appetites they can never satisfy. What will be wanted are Sam Wellers, -Captain Costigans, and Jane Eyres--poetry that lives, controversy that -bites, speeches that stir the imagination. - -Thus far the aged century. To argue with it would be absurd; to silence -it cruel, and perhaps impossible. Greedy Time will soon do that. - -But suppose it should turn out to be the fact that we are about -to enter upon a period of well-cultivated mediocrity. What then? -Centuries cannot be expected to go on repeating the symptoms of their -predecessors. We have had no Burns. We cannot, therefore, expect to end -with the beginnings of a Wordsworth and a Coleridge; there may likely -be a lull. The lull may also be a relief. Of all odd crazes, the craze -to be for ever reading new books is one of the oddest. - -Hazlitt may be found grappling with this subject, and, as usual, -‘punishing’ it severely in his own inimitable style. ‘I hate,’ says -he, in the second volume of ‘The Plain Speaker’--in the essay entitled -‘On Reading Old Books’--‘to read new books;’ and he continues, a page -further on, ‘Contemporary writers may generally be divided into two -classes--one’s friends or one’s foes. Of the first we are compelled -to think too well, and of the last we are disposed to think too ill, -to receive much genuine pleasure from the perusal, or to judge fairly -of the merit of either. One candidate for literary fame who happens -to be of our acquaintance writes finely and like a man of genius, but -unfortunately has a foolish face, which spoils a delicate passage; -another inspires us with the highest respect for his personal talents -and character, but does not come up to our expectations in print. All -these contradictions and petty details interrupt the calm current of -our reflections.’ - -Hazlitt was no doubt a good hater. We are now of milder mood. It ought -not to be difficult for any of us, if we but struggle a little, to keep -a man’s nose out of his novel. But, for all that, it is certain that -true literary sway is borne but by the dead. Living authors may stir -and stimulate us, provoke our energies, and excite our sympathy, but it -is the dead who rule us from their urns. - -Authority has no place in matters concerning books and reading, else it -would be well were some proportion fixed between the claims of living -and dead authors. - -There is no sillier affectation than that of old-worldism. To rave -about Sir Thomas Browne and know nothing of William Cobbett is -foolish. To turn your back upon your own time is simply to provoke -living wags, with rudimentary but effective humour, to chalk -opprobrious epithets upon your person. But, on the other hand, to -depend upon your contemporaries for literary sustenance, to be reduced -to scan the lists of ‘Forthcoming Works’ with a hungry eye, to complain -of a dearth of new poems, and new novels, and new sermons, is worse -than affectation--it is stupidity. - -There was a time when old books were hard to procure and difficult -to house. With the exception of a few of the greatest, it required -as much courage to explore the domains of our old authors as it -did to visit Wast Water or Loch Maree before the era of roads and -railways. The first step was to turn the folios into octavos, and to -publish complete editions; the second was to cheapen the price of -issue. The first cheap booksellers were, it is sometimes alleged, -men of questionable character in their trade. Yet their names should -be cherished. They made many young lives happy, and fostered better -taste than either or both the Universities. Hogg, Cooke, Millar, -Donaldson, Bell, even Tegg, the ‘extraneous Tegg’ of Carlyle’s famous -Parliamentary petition, did good work in their day. Somehow or another -the family libraries of the more respectable booksellers hung fire. -They did not find their way about. Perhaps their authors were selected -with too much care. - - - ‘He wales a portion with judicious care.’ - - -The pious Cottar did well, but the world is larger than the family; -besides which it is not always ‘Saturday Night.’ Cooke had no -scruples. He published ‘Tom Jones’ in fortnightly, and (I think) -sixpenny parts, embellished with cuts, and after the same appetising -fashion proceeded right through the ‘British Novelists.’ He did the -same with the ‘British Poets.’ It was a noble enterprise. You never see -on a stall one of Cooke’s books but it is soiled by honest usage; its -odour speaks of the thousand thumbs that have turned over its pages -with delight. Cooke made an immense fortune, and deserved to do so. -He believed both in genius and his country. He gave the people cheap -books, and they bought them gladly. He died at an advanced age in 1810. -Perhaps when he came to do so he was glad he had published a series of -‘Sacred Classics,’ as well as ‘Tom Jones.’ - -We are now living in an age of handsome reprints. It is possible to -publish a good-sized book on good paper and sell it at a profit for -fourpence halfpenny. But of course to do this, as the profit is too -small to bear division, you must get the Authors out of the way. Our -admirable copyright laws and their own sedentary habits do this on -the whole satisfactorily and in due course. Consequently dead authors -are amazingly cheap. Not merely Shakespeare and Milton, Bunyan and -Burns, but Scott and Macaulay, Thackeray and Dickens. Living authors -are deadly dear. You may buy twenty books by dead men at the price of -one work by a living man. The odds are fearful. For my part, I hope -a _modus vivendi_ may be established between the publishers of the -dead and those of the living; but when you examine the contents of the -‘Camelot Classics,’ the ‘Carisbrooke Library,’ the ‘Chandos Classics,’ -the ‘Canterbury Poets,’ the ‘Mermaid Series of the Old Dramatists,’ -and remember, or try to remember, the publishing lists of Messrs. -Routledge, Mr. Black, Messrs Warne, and Messrs. Cassell, it is easy -for the reader to snap his fingers at Fate. It cannot touch him--he -can dine for many a day. Even were our ‘lyrical cry’ to be stifled for -half a century, what with Mr. Bullen’s ‘Elizabethan Lyrics,’ and ‘More -Elizabethan Lyrics,’ and ‘Lyrics from the Dramatists,’ and ‘Lyrics from -the Romances,’ and Mr. Palgrave’s ‘Golden Treasury,’ ‘a man,’ as Mr. -Markham observes in ‘David Copperfield,’ ‘might get on very well here,’ -even though that man were, as Markham asserted himself to be, ‘hungry -all day long.’ A British poet does not cease to be a poet because he -is dead, nor is he, for that matter, any the better a poet for being -alive. - -As for a scarcity of living poets proving national decadence, it would -be hard to make out that case. Who sang Chatham’s victories by sea and -land? - - - - -BOOK-BINDING. - - -There is a familiar anecdote of the ingenious author of ‘The Seasons,’ -‘Rule, Britannia,’ and other excellent pieces, that when he sent a -well-bound copy of his poems to his father, who had always regarded -him, not altogether unjustly, as a ‘feckless loon,’ that canny Scot -handled the volume with unfeigned delight, and believing that his son -had bound it, cried out admiringly, ‘Who would have thought our Jamie -could have done the like of this?’ This particular copy has not been -preserved, and it is therefore impossible for us to determine how far -its bibliopegic merits justified the rapture of the elder Thomson, -whose standard is not likely to have been a high one. Indeed, despite -his rusticity, he was probably a better judge of poetry than of binding. - -This noble craft has revived in our midst. Twenty years ago, in -ordinary circles, the book-binder was a miscreant who, by the aid of a -sharp knife, a hideous assortment of calf-skins and of marbled papers, -bound your books for you by slaughtering their margins, stripping their -sides, and returning them upon your hands cropped and in prison garb, -and so lettered as to tell no man what they were. And the worst of it -was we received them with complacency, gave them harbourage upon our -shelves, and only grumbled that the price was so high as four shillings -a volume. Those days are over. Yet it is well to be occasionally -reminded of the rock from whence we were hewn, and the pit out of which -we were digged. I have now lying before me a first edition of the -essays of Elia which, being in boards, I allowed to be treated by a -provincial called Shimmin, in the sixties. I remember its coming home, -and how I thought it was all right. Infancy was no excuse for such -ignorance. - -The second-hand booksellers, a race of men for whom I have the -greatest respect, are to blame in this matter. They did not play the -part they might have been expected to do. They gave no prominence in -their catalogues, which are the true text-books of literature, to -specimens of book-binding, nor did they instil into the minds of their -young customers the rudiments of taste. Worse than this, some of the -second-hand booksellers in the country were themselves binders, and, -for the most part, infamous ones. - -One did, indeed, sometimes hear of Roger Payne and of the Harleian -style, but dimly, and as a thing of no moment, nor were our eyes ever -regaled in booksellers’ catalogues with facsimiles of the exquisite -bindings of the French and English masters. Nor was it until we -went further afield, and became acquainted with the booksellers of -Paris, that this new world swam into our ken. It was a great day -when a stray copy of a ‘Bulletin Mensuel’ of Damascene Morgand, the -famous bookseller in the Passage des Panoramas, fell into the hands -of a mere country book-buyer. Then he knew how brutally he had been -deceived--then he looked with loathing on his truncated tomes and their -abominable devices. The first really bound book I ever saw was a copy -of the works of Pierre de Ronsard bearing the devices of Marguerite de -Valois. The price was so far beyond my resources that I left the shop -without a touch of envy, but the scales had fallen from my eyes, and I -walked down the Passage des Panoramas as one who had awakened from a -dream. - -Nowadays it is quite different. The Arts and Crafts Exhibition did -much, and the second-hand booksellers, in quite ordinary places, are -beginning to give in their catalogues reproductions of noble specimens. -Nothing else is required. To see is enough. There was recently, as -most people know, a wonderful exhibition of bindings to be seen at -the Burlington Fine Art Club, but what is not so generally known is -that the Club has published a magnificent catalogue of the contents of -that Exhibition, with no less than 114 plates reproducing with the -greatest possible skill and delicacy some of the finest specimens. Mr. -Gordon Duff, who is credited with a profounder knowledge of pigskins -than any living man, has contributed a short preface to the volume, -whilst Miss Prideaux, herself a binder of great merit, has written a -general introduction, in which she traces the history of the craft, and -duly records the names of the most famous binders of Europe. A more -fascinating picture-book cannot be imagined, for to the charm of colour -and design is added all the feeling which only a book can impart. Such -a book as this marks an epoch, and ought to be the beginning of a time -when even sale-catalogues shall take pains to be splendid. - -When the library of the Baron de Lacarelle came to be dispersed at -his death a few years ago, the auctioneer’s catalogue, as issued by -Charles Porquet, of the Quai Voltaire, made a volume which, wherever it -goes, imparts dignity to human endeavour, and consecrates a virtuoso’s -whim. It was but a small library--only 540 books--and to call it well -selected would be to abuse a term one has learnt to connect with Major -Ponto’s library in ‘The Book of Snobs.’ ‘My library’s small,’ says -Ponto, with the most amazing impudence, ‘but well selected, my boy, -well selected. I have been reading the History of England all the -morning.’ He could not have done this in the Baron’s library. - -As you turn the pages of this glorified catalogue, his treasures seem -to lie before you--you can almost stroke them. A devoted friend, _de la -Société des Bibliophiles français_, contributes an ecstatic sketch of -the Baron’s character, and tells us of him how he employed in his hunt -after a book infinite artifice, and called to his aid all the resources -of learned strategy--‘poussant ses approches et manœuvrant, autour de -la place, avec la prudence et le génie d’un tacticien consommé, si -bien que le malheureux libraire, enlacé, fasciné, hypnotisé par ce -grand charmeur, finissait presque toujours par capituler et se rendre.’ -This great man only believed in one modern binder: Trautz. The others -did not exist for him. ‘Cherchez-vous à le convertir? Il restait -incorruptible et répétait invariablement, avec cet esprit charmant, -mais un peu railleur, dont il avait le privilège, que s’il était jamais -damné, son enfer serait de remuer une reliure de Capé ou de Lortic!’ - -It is all very splendid and costly and grand, yet still from time to -time, - - - ‘From the soul’s subterranean depth upborne,’ - - -there comes the thought of Charles Lamb amidst ‘the ragged veterans’ he -loved so well, and then in an instant a reaction sets in, and we almost -hate this sumptuous Baron. - -Thomson’s “Seasons,” again, looks best (I maintain it) a little torn -and dog’s-eared. How beautiful to a genuine lover of reading are the -sullied leaves and worn-out appearance, nay, the very odour (beyond -Russia), if we would not forget kind feelings in fastidiousness, of an -old “circulating library” “Tom Jones” or the “Vicar of Wakefield”!’ -Thus far, Elia. - -Let us admit that the highest and noblest joys are those which are in -widest commonalty spread, and that accordingly the clay pipe of the -artisan is more truly emotional than the most marvellous meerschaum to -be seen in the shop-windows of Vienna--still, the collector has his -joys and his uses, his triumphant moments, his hours of depression, -and, if only he publishes a catalogue, may be pronounced in small type -a benefactor of the human race. - - - - -POETS LAUREATE. - - -About forty years ago two ingenious gentlemen, Mr. Austin, of Exeter -College, and Mr. Ralph, a member of the Bar, published a book -containing short sketches of the lives of Poets Laureate of this -realm, beginning with Ben Jonson and ending with Wordsworth, and also -an essay on the Title and Office. It has sometimes been rudely said -that Laureates came into fashion when fools and jesters went out, but -the perusal of Messrs. Austin and Ralph’s introductory essay, to say -nothing of the most cursory examination of the table of contents of -their volume, is enough to disprove the truth of this saying. - -A Laureate was originally a purely University title, bestowed upon -those Masters of Arts who had exhibited skill in the manufacture of -Latin verses, and had nothing to do with the civil authority or royal -favour. Thus, the famous Skelton (1460-1529) was laureated at Oxford, -and afterwards obtained permission to wear his laurel at Cambridge; but -though tutor to King Henry VIII., and, according to Miss Strickland, -the original corrupter of that monarch, he was never a Poet Laureate in -the modern sense of the word; that is, he was never appointed to hold -the place and quality of Poet Laureate to his Majesty. I regret this, -for he was a man of original genius. Campbell, writing in 1819, admits -his ‘vehemence and vivacity,’ but pronounces his humour ‘vulgar and -flippant,’ and his style a texture of slang phrases; but Mr. Churton -Collins, in 1880, declares that Skelton reminds him more of Rabelais -than any author in our language, and pronounces him one of the most -versatile and essentially original of all our poets. We hold with Mr. -Collins. - -Skelton was popularly known as a Poet Laureate, and in the earliest -edition of his poems, which bears no date, but is about 1520, he is -described on the title-page as ‘Mayster Skelton, Poet Laureate,’ as he -also is in the first collected edition of 1568, ‘Pithy pleasaunt and -profitable works of Maister Skelton, Poete Laureate.’ This title was -the University title, and not a royal one. - -Spenser is sometimes reckoned amongst the Poets Laureate; but, as a -matter of fact, he had no right to the title at all, nor did he or -his publishers ever assume it. He is, of course, one of the poetical -glories of Cambridge, but he was never laureated there, nor did Queen -Elizabeth ever appoint him her poet, though she granted him £50 a year. - -The first Laureate, in the modern sense of the word, is undoubtedly -Ben Jonson, to whom Charles I. made out a patent conferring upon this -famous man £100 a year and ‘a terse of Canary Spanish wine,’ which -latter benefit the miserable Pye commuted for £27. From Jonson to -Tennyson there is no breach of continuity, for Sir William Davenant, -who was appointed in 1638, survived till the Restoration, dying in -1668. The list is a curious one, and is just worth printing: Jonson, -Davenant, Dryden, Shadwell, Nahum Tate, Rowe, the Rev. Laurence Eusden, -Colley Cibber, William Whitehead, the Rev. Thomas Warton, Henry James -Pye, Robert Southey, William Wordsworth, Lord Tennyson. - -One must be charitable in these matters. Here are fourteen names -and four great ones--Jonson, Dryden, Wordsworth and Tennyson; two -distinguished ones--Nicholas Rowe and Robert Southey; two clever -names--Shadwell and Colley Cibber; two respectable names--Tate -and Warton; one interesting name--Davenant; and three unutterable -names--Eusden, Whitehead and Pye. After all, it is not so very bad. -The office was offered to Gray, and he refused it. Pope, as a Roman -Catholic, was out of the question. It would have suited Thomson well -enough, and have tickled Goldsmith’s fancy mightily. Collins died too -young. - -But Eusden, Whitehead and Pye, how did they manage it? and what in the -name of wonder did they write? Eusden was of Irish extraction, but -was born the son of an English clergyman, and was like most poets a -Cambridge man. He owed his appointment in 1718 to the Duke of Newcastle -of the period, whose favour he had won by a poem addressed to him on -the occasion of his marriage with the Lady Henrietta Godolphin. But he -had also qualified for the office by verses sacred to the memory of -George I., and in praise of George II. - - - ‘Hail, mighty monarch! whom desert alone - Would, without birthright, raise up to the throne, - Thy virtues shine peculiarly nice, - Ungloomed with a confinity to vice.’ - - -To do Grub Street justice, it was very angry with this appointment, -and Hesiod Cooke wrote a poem called ‘The Battle of the Poets,’ in -which the new Laureate was severely but truthfully handled in verse not -conspicuously better than his own: - - - ‘Eusden, a laurelled bard by fortune rais’d, - By very few been read--by fewer prais’d.’ - - -Eusden is the author of ‘Verses Spoken at the Public Commencement in -Cambridge,’ published in quarto, which are said to be indecent. Our -authors refer to them as follows: - -‘Those prurient lines which we dare not quote, but which the curious -may see in the library of the British Museum, were specially composed -and repeated for the edification and amusement of some of the noblest -and fairest of our great-great-grandmothers.’ Eusden took to drinking -and translating Tasso, and died at his living, for he was a parson, of -Coningsby in Lincolnshire. - -Of William Whitehead you may read in Campbell’s ‘Specimens of the -British Poets.’ He was the son of a baker, was school-tutor to -Lord Lymington, and having been treated at Oxford in the shabby -way that seat of learning has ever treated poets--from Shirley to -Calverley--proceeded to Cambridge, that true nest of singing-birds, -where he obtained a Fellowship and the post of domestic tutor to the -eldest son of the Earl of Jersey. He was always fond of the theatre, -and his first effort was a little farce which was never published, -but which tempted him to compose heavy tragedies which were. Of -these tragedies it would be absurd to speak; they never enjoyed -any popularity, either on the stage or in the closet. He owed his -appointment--which he did not obtain till Gray had refused it--entirely -to his noble friends. - -Campbell had the courage to reprint a longish poem of Whitehead’s -called ‘Variety: a Tale for Married People.’ It really is not very, -very, bad, but it will never be reprinted again; and so I refer ‘the -curious’ to Mr. Campbell’s seventh volume. - -As for Pye, he was a scholar and a gentleman, a barrister, a member of -Parliament, and a police magistrate. On his father’s death he inherited -a large estate, which he actually sold to pay his parent’s debts, -though he was under no obligation to do so, as in those days a man’s -real estate was not liable to pay the debts he might chance to leave -undischarged at his death. To pay a dead man’s debts out of his land -was to rob his heir. Pye was not famous as a Parliamentary orator, but -he was not altogether silent, like Gibbon; for we read that in 1788 -he told the House that his constituents had suffered from a scanty -hay-harvest. He was appointed Laureate in 1790, and he died in 1813. -He was always made fun of as a poet, and, unfortunately for him, there -was another poet in the House at the same time, called Charles Small -Pybus; hence the jest, ‘Pye et Parvus Pybus,’ which was in everyone’s -mouth. He was a voluminous author and diligent translator, but I do not -recollect ever seeing a single book of his in a shop, or on a stall, or -in a catalogue. As a Poet Great Pye is dead--as dead as Parvus Pybus, -M.P., but let us all try hard to remember that he paid his father’s -debts out of his own pocket. - - - ‘Only the actions of the just, - Smell _sweet_ and blossom in their dust.’ - - - - -PARLIAMENTARY CANDIDATES. - - -The best time to study at leisure the habits and manners of the -candidate for Parliament is shortly before an anticipated dissolution. -Even as once in a series of years the astronomer furbishes up his -telescope and observes the transit of a planet across the surface of -the sun, so, as a General Election approaches, and when, consequently, -candidates are numerous, the curious observer of human nature in all -its wayward manifestations hastens to some place where experience has -taught him candidates will be found gathered together. - -No spot is so favourable for an investigation of this kind as the -scene of a contested by-election which takes place when a General -Election is at no great distance. The investigation cannot with -safety be postponed until a General Election. Then all is hurry and -confusion. There is a fight in every constituency. No man can help his -neighbour. Everybody is on his own war-path. There is, therefore, no -concentration of candidates. They are scattered up and down the land -and so flurried that it is almost impossible to observe their humours. -To appreciate a candidate properly takes time--a great deal of time. -But at a by-election shortly before a General Election candidates are -to be found in shoals--genuine candidates who have all gone through -the proud process of selection, who enjoy a status peculiarly their -own, who have a part to play, and play it with spirit. They hurry to -the contest from afar. With what readiness do they proffer their -services! Like sea-birds, they come screaming and flapping their -wings, and settle down at the same hotel, which for days resounds with -their cheerful cries. This is quite the best place to observe them. In -the smoking-room at night, after their oratorical labours are over, -they are very great, very proud, very happy. Their talk is of their -constituencies, as they are pleased to designate the districts which -have chosen them. They retail the anecdotes with which they are wont -to convulse their audiences. The stories are familiar, but not as they -tell them. - -What a contrast do these bright, hopeful creatures present to their -taciturn, cynical companions!--sombre figures, who sit sucking at their -pipes, the actual members of Parliament, who, far from flying joyfully -to the field of battle, as the candidate has just done, have been -driven there, grunting and grumbling, by the angry crack of the party -Whips. - -As you listen to the frank, exuberant speech of the candidate, -recounting the points he has made during the day, the conviction he -has brought home to the waverer, the dilemmas he has thrust upon his -opponents, the poor show made by somebody who thought to embarrass -him by an interruption, and compare it with the gloomy asides of the -member, who, however brave a figure he may have made upon the platform -an hour or two before, seems now painfully alive to the inherent -weakness of his cause, doubtful of victory anywhere, certain of defeat -where he is, it is almost impossible to believe that once upon a time -the member was himself a candidate. - -Confidence is the badge of the tribe of candidates. How it is born, -where it is bred, on what it feeds save vanity, we cannot tell. Figures -cannot shake it. It is too majestical to be affected by ridicule. From -scorn and brutal jest it turns contemptuously away. When a collision -occurs between the boundless confidence of the candidate and the -bottomless world-wearied scepticism of the member, it is interesting -to note how wholly ineffectual is the latter to disturb, even for a -moment, the beautifully poised equilibrium of the former. - -‘I always forget the name of the place you are trying for,’ I -lately overheard a member, during an election contest, observe at -breakfast-time to a candidate. - -‘The Slowcombe Division of Mudfordshire,’ replied the candidate. - -‘Oh!’ said the member, with a groan, as he savagely chipped at his -egg; ‘I thought they had given you something better than that.’ - -‘I wish for nothing better,’ said the candidate; ‘I’m safe enough.’ - -And so saying, he rose from the table, and, taking his hat, went off on -to the Parade, where he was soon joined by another candidate, and the -pair whiled away a couple of hours in delightful converse. - -The politics of candidates are fierce things. In this respect the -British commodity differs materially from the American. Mr. Lowell -introduces the American candidate as saying: - - - ‘Ez to my princerples, I glory - In hevin’ nothin’ o’ the sort. - I ain’t a Whig, I ain’t a Tory-- - I’m just a Canderdate, in short.’ - - -Our candidates--good, excellent fellows that they are--are not a bit -like Mr. Lowell’s. They have as many principles as a fish has bones; -their vision is clear. The following expressions are constantly on -their lips: - -‘I can see no difficulty about it--I have explained it all to my people -over and over again, and no more can they. I and my constituency -are entirely at one in the matter. I must say our leaders are very -disappointing My people are getting a little dissatisfied, though, of -course, I tell them they must not expect everything at once, and I -think they see that’--and so on for an hour or two. - -There is nothing a candidate hates more than a practical difficulty; he -feels discomfited by it. It destroys the harmony of his periods, the -sweep of his generalizations. All such things he dismisses as detail, -‘which need not now detain us, gentlemen.’ - -Herein, perhaps, consists the true happiness of the candidate. He is -the embodied Hope of his party. He will grapple with facts--when he -becomes one. In the meantime he floats about, cheered wherever he goes. -It is an intoxicating life. - -Sometimes when candidates and members meet together--not to aid their -common cause at a by-election, but for the purpose of discussing the -prospects of their party--the situation gets a little accentuated. -Candidates have a habit of glaring around them, which is distinctly -unpleasant; whilst some members sniff the air, as if that were a -recognised method of indicating the presence of candidates. Altogether, -the less candidates and members see of one another, the better. They -are antipathetic; they harm one another. - -The self-satisfaction and hopefulness of the candidate, his noisy -torrent of talk ere he is dashed below, his untiring enunciation of -platitudes and fallacies, his abuse of opponents, the weight of whose -arm he has never felt--all these things, harmless as they are, far from -displeasing in themselves, deepen the gloom of the sitting member, into -whose soul the iron of St. Stephen’s has entered, relax the tension of -his mind, unnerve his vigour, corrode his faith; whilst, on the other -hand, his demeanour and utterances, his brutal recognition of failure -on his own side, and of merit in his opponent’s, are puzzling to the -candidate. - -The leaders of parties will do well if they keep members and candidates -apart. The latter should always herd together. - -To do candidates justice, they are far more amusing, and much better -worth studying, than members. - - - - -THE BONÂ-FIDE TRAVELLER. - - -This thirsty gentleman is threatened with extinction. His Sabbatical -pint is in danger. He has been reported against by a Royal Commission. -Threatened men, I know, live long, and it is not for me to raise -false alarms, but though the end of the _bonâ-fide_ traveller may be -not yet, his glory has departed. His more than Sabbath-day journeys -in search of the liquor that he loves, extended though they are -by statute over three dreary, dusty miles of turnpike, have been -ridiculed, and, worse than that, his _bonâ-fide_ character--hitherto -his proud passport to intoxication--has been roughly condemned as -pleonastic. A pretty pleonasm, truly, which has broached many a barrel. -The Commissioners say, ‘We think it would be advisable to eliminate -the words _bonâ-fide_. No sensible person could suppose that the -Legislature in using the word “traveller” meant to include persons who -make a pretence only of being such, and are not travellers really and -in fact.’ At present there are two classes of Sunday travellers: there -is the real traveller and there is the _bonâ-fide_ traveller. It is the -latter whose existence is menaced. The sooner he dies the better, for, -in plain English, he is a drunken dog. - -The Report of the Royal Commission as to the operation of the Welsh -Sunday Closing Act of 1881 has been published, and, as the phrase -runs, will repay perusal. It is full of humanity and details about -our neighbours, their habits and customs. However true it may have -been, or still may be, that one half of the world does not know how -the other half lives, it is a libel upon the curiosity of mankind to -attribute this ignorance to indifference. No facts are more popular, -than those which relate to people’s lives. Could it be discovered how -many people prefer tea without sugar, the return would be printed in -every newspaper of Great Britain, and be made the text of tens of -thousands of leading articles. We are all alike in this respect, though -some of us are ashamed to own it. We are by no means sure that the man -answered badly who, when asked which of George Eliot’s characters was -lodged most firmly in human memories, replied boldly, Mrs. Linnet. -Everybody remembers Mrs. Linnet, and grins broadly at the very mention -of her name. ‘On taking up the biography of a celebrated preacher, -she immediately turned to the end to see what disease he died of; and -if his legs swelled as her own occasionally did, she felt a stronger -interest in ascertaining any earlier facts in the history of the -dropsical divine; whether he had ever fallen off a stage-coach, whether -he had married more than one wife, and, in general, any adventures -or repartees recorded of him prior to the epoch of his conversion. -Then she glanced over the letters and diary, and wherever there was a -predominance of Zion, the River of Life, and notes of exclamation, she -turned over to the next page; but any passage in which she saw such -promising nouns as “small-pox,” “pony,” or “boots and shoes,” at once -arrested her.’ How inimitable it is! And yet Mr. Oscar Browning prefers -‘Daniel Deronda.’ It is a comforting reflection that whether you write -well or whether you write ill, you have always an audience. - -But Mrs. Linnet’s deep-rooted popularity proves how fond we all are of -escaping from abstractions and predictions, and seizing hold of the -things about which we really feel ourselves entitled to an opinion. -Mrs. Linnet would have read a great part of the Report to which I -have referred with much interest. It is full of most promising nouns. -Mrs. Linnet’s opinion as to a _bonâ-fide_ traveller would be quite as -valuable as Lord Balfour of Burleigh’s. - -But who is a _bonâ-fide_ traveller? He is a person who seeks drink -on Sunday during hours when by law public-houses are closed. He has -therefore to make out a special case for being supplied with drink. -The fact that he is thirsty counts for nothing. Everybody is thirsty -on Sunday. His special case is that he is not a resident, but a -traveller, and wants refreshment to enable him to go on travelling. But -here the law steps in, ‘big-wigged, voluminous-jawed,’ and adds this -qualification--that nobody shall be considered a _bonâ-fide_ traveller -who is not three miles away from his last bed. An attorney’s clerk of -three months’ standing could have foretold what has happened, namely, -that everybody who is three miles from home becomes at once and _ipso -facto_ a _bonâ fide_ traveller. You rap with your knuckles at the door -of the shut inn; it is partially opened, and the cautious publican or -his spouse inquires of you where you come from; you name a city of the -plain four miles off, and the next moment finds you comfortably seated -in the bar-parlour. Falsely to represent yourself as a _bonâ-fide_ -traveller is a misdemeanor, but assuming you are three miles away -from home, how can such a representation be made falsely? We are all -pilgrims in this world. If my sole motive for walking three miles on -Sunday is to get a pint of beer at the Griffin, doubtless I am not a -_bonâ-fide_ traveler, but if my motive be to get both the walk and the -beer, who dare asperse my good faith? Should I have taken the walk but -for the beer, or should I have taken the beer but for the walk? are -questions far too nice to be made the subject of summary process. - -The Commissioners cannot be accused of shirking this difficult -question. They brace up their minds to it, and deliver themselves -as follows. There is, say they, in language of almost Scriptural -simplicity, first the traveler who makes a journey either by railway -or otherwise, on business or for some other necessary cause. His case, -in the opinion of the Commissioners, is a simple one. He is entitled to -drink by the way. But next, proceed the Commissioners in language of -less merit, ‘there is the individual who leaves his place of residence -in the morning, or it may be later in the day, intending to be absent -for some hours, inclusive perhaps, but not necessarily, of his mid-day -meal, his object being primarily change of air and scene, exercise, -relaxation of some kind, a visit to friends, or some reasonable cause -other than merely to qualify for entrance into a licensed house.’ -This is the mixed-motive case already hinted at. Then, thirdly, there -is the bold bad man ‘who goes from his home to a point not less than -three miles distant, either on foot or by wheeled vehicle by road or -rail, primarily if not solely to procure the drink which the Act denies -him within three miles of where he lodged the previous night.’ This -gentleman is the genuine _bonâ-fide_ traveler known to all policemen -and magistrates, and it is he who is threatened with extinction. But -how is he to be differentiated from the individual who leaves his place -of residence in the morning and goes to a place, not in search of -drink, but where, for all that, drink is? For example, it appears from -this Report that near Swansea is a place of resort called the Mumbles. -A great many people go there every Sunday, and a considerable number -return home drunk at night; but, say the Commissioners, and we entirely -believe them, ‘it is impossible for us to say what proportion of them -go for change and exercise and what proportion for the sake of drink.’ -But if it be impossible, how is the distinction between the individual -who leaves his place of residence in the morning, and the bold bad man, -to be maintained? - -There are those who would abolish the exemption in favour of travellers -altogether. Let him who travels on Sunday take his liquor with him in -a flask. There are others who would allow his glass to the traveller -who is not on pleasure bent, but would refuse it to everybody else. A -third party hold that a man who takes exercise for his health is as -much entitled to refreshment as the traveller who goes on business. No -one has been found bold enough to say a word for the man who travels in -order that he may drink. - -The Commissioners, after the wont of such men, steer a middle course. -They agree with the Rev. Dr. Parry, Moderator of the General Assembly -of the Calvinistic Methodists of Wales, who declared that he would not -exclude from reasonable refreshment ‘a man who goes from his place -of residence on Sunday to see the country’! I confess I should like -to have both Dr. Parry’s and a Welsh collier’s opinion as to what is -reasonable refreshment. Then, again, ‘to see the country’ is a vague -phrase. - -The Commissioners suggest a new clause, to run as follows: - -‘No person shall be deemed to be within the exception relating to -travellers unless he proves that he was actually engaged in travelling -for some purpose other than that of obtaining intoxicating liquor, -and that he has not remained on the licensed premises longer than was -reasonably required for the transaction of his necessary business or -for the purpose of necessary rest, refreshment, or shelter from the -weather.’ - -This is nothing but a repeal of the three-mile limit. How is a -wayfaring man to prove that he is travelling for some purpose other -than that of obtaining intoxicating liquor? He can only assert the -fact, and unless he is a notorious drunkard, both the publican and -the magistrate are bound to believe him. Were the suggestion of the -Commissioners to be carried out, it probably would be found that our -old friend the _bonâ-fide_ traveller could get his liquor and curtail -his walk. - -I should like Mrs. Linnet’s opinion; but failing hers, can only express -my own, which is that Sunday drinking is so bad a thing that if it -can be stopped it ought to be so, even though it were to follow as a -consequence that no traveller could get drink from Saturday night till -Monday morning except at the place where he spent the night. - - - - -‘HOURS IN A LIBRARY.’ - - -In the face of the proverb about the pavement of the way to hell, I -am prepared to maintain that good intentions are better than bad, and -that evil is the wretch who is not full of good intentions and holy -plans at the beginning of each New Year. Time, like a fruitful plain, -then lies stretched before you; the eye rests on tuneful groves, cool -meadow-lands, and sedgy streams, whither you propose to wander, and -where you promise yourself many happy, well-spent hours. I speak in -metaphors, of course--pale-faced Londoner that I am--my meadows and -streams are not marked upon the map: they are (coming at once to the -point, for this is a generation which is only teased by allegory) the -old books I mean to read over again during the good year of grace -1894. Yonder stately grove is Gibbon; that thicket, Hobbes; where the -light glitters on the green surface (it is black mud below) is Sterne; -healthful but penetrating winds stir Bishop Butler’s pages and make -your naked soul shiver, as you become more and more convinced, the -longer you read, that ‘someone has blundered,’ though whether it is you -or your Maker remains, like everything else, unsolved. Each one of us -must make out his own list. It were cruelty to prolong mine, though it -is but begun. - -As a grace before meat, or, if the simile be preferred, as the -_Zakuska_ or _Vorschmack_ before dinner, let me urge upon all to read -the three volumes, lately reissued and very considerably enlarged, -called ‘Hours in a Library,’ by Mr. Leslie Stephen. - -Mr. Stephen is a bracing writer. His criticisms are no sickly fruit -of fond compliance with his authors. By no means are they this, but -hence their charm. There is much pestilent trash now being talked about -‘Ministry of Books,’ and the ‘Sublimity of Art,’ and I know not what -other fine phrases. It almost amounts to a religious service conducted -before an altar of first editions. Mr. Stephen takes no part in such -silly rites. He remains outside with a pail of cold water. - - - ‘It sometimes strikes readers of books that literature is, on - the whole, a snare and a delusion. Writers, of course, do not - generally share that impression; and on the contrary have said - a great many fine things about the charm of conversing with the - choice minds of all ages, with the _innuendo_, to use the legal - phrase, that they themselves modestly demand some place amongst - the aforesaid choice minds. But at times we are disposed to retort - upon our teachers. “Are you not,” we observe, “exceedingly given - to humbug?”’ - - -Mr. Stephen has indeed, by way of preface to his own three volumes, -collected a goodly number of these very fine things, but then he has, -with grim humour, dubbed them ‘Opinions of Authors,’ thus reducing them -to the familiar level of ‘Nothing like leather!’ - -But of course, though Mr. Leslie Stephen, like the wise man he is, -occasionally hits his idol over the costard with a club just to -preserve his own independence, he is and frankly owns himself to be a -bookish man from the crown of his head to the sole of his foot. He even -confesses he loves the country best in books; but then it must be in -real country-books and not in descriptive poetry, which, says he with -Johnsonian calmness, is for the most part ‘intolerably dull.’ - -There is no better living representative of the great clan of sensible -men and women who delight in reading for the pleasure it gives them -than Mr. Stephen. If he is only pleased, it is quite shocking what he -will put up with, and even loudly commend. - - - ‘We are indeed told dogmatically that a novelist should never - indulge in little asides to a reader. Why not?... I like to read - about Tom Jones or Colonel Newcome; but I am also very glad when - Fielding or Thackeray puts his puppets aside for the moment and - talks to me in his own person. A child, it is true, dislikes to - have the illusion broken, and is angry if you try to persuade him - that Giant Despair was not a real personage like his favourite - Blunderbore. But the attempt to produce such illusions is really - unworthy of work intended for full-grown readers.’ - - -Puppets indeed! It is evil and wicked treason against our Sovereign -Lady, the Art we serve, to talk of puppets. The characters of our -living Novelists live and move and have an independent being all their -very own. They are clothed in flesh and blood. They talk and jostle one -another. Where, we breathlessly inquire, do they do all or any of these -fine things? Is it in the printed page? Alas! no. It is only in the -minds of their Authors, whither we cannot follow them even if we would. - -Mr. Stephen has great enthusiasm, which ought to reconcile us to his -discriminating judgment and occasional easterly blast. Nobody loves a -good book better than he. Whether his subject be Nathaniel Hawthorne -or Daniel De Foe, it is handled cunningly, as by a man who knows. But -his highest praise is his unbought verdict. He is his own man. He is -dominated by no prevailing taste or fashion. Even his affection does -not bias him. He yields to none in his admiration for the ‘good Sir -Walter,’ yet he writes: - -‘It is a question perhaps whether the firmer parts of Scott’s -reputation will be sufficiently coherent to resist after the removal of -the rubbish.’ - -‘Rubbish.’ It is a harsh word, and might well make Dean Stanley -and a bygone generation of worshippers and believers in the plenary -inspiration of Scott stir uneasily in their graves. It grates upon my -own ear. But if it is a true word, what then? Why even then it does -not matter very much, for when Time, that old ravager, has done his -very worst, there will be enough left of Sir Walter to carry down his -name and fame to the remotest age. He cannot be ejected from his native -land. Loch Katrine and Loch Leven are not exposed to criticism, and -they will pull Sir Walter through. - -Mr. Stephen has another recommendation. Every now and again he goes -hopelessly wrong. This is most endearing. Must I give instances? If I -must I will, but without further note or comment. He is wrong in his -depreciation of ‘Wuthering Heights,’ and wrong, amazingly wrong, in -his unaccountable partiality for ‘Henrietta Temple.’ - -The author of ‘Hours in a Library’ belongs, it is hardly necessary -to say, to the class of writers who use their steam for the purpose -of going straight ahead. He is always greatly concerned with his -subject. If he is out fox-hunting, he comes home with the brush, and -not with a spray of blackberries; but if, on the other hand, he goes -out blackberrying, he will return deeply dyed the true tint, and not -dragging behind him a languishing coil of seaweed. Metaphors will, I -know, ultimately be my ruin, but in the meantime I hope I make myself -reasonably plain. In this honest characteristic Mr. Leslie Stephen -resembles his distinguished brother, Sir James Stephen, who, in his -admirable ‘Horæ Sabbaticæ’ (Macmillan, 3 vols.), may be discovered at -any time tearing authors into little bits and stripping them of their -fringe, and then presenting to you, in a few masterly pages, the marrow -of their arguments and the pith of their position. - -Much genuine merriment is, however, almost always to be extracted from -writers of this kind. Mr. Leslie Stephen’s humour, none the worse for -belonging to the sardonic species, is seldom absent from a page. It -would be both pleasant and easy to collect a number of his epigrams, -witty sayings, and humorous terms--but it is better to leave then where -they are. The judicious will find them for themselves for many a long -day to come. The sensible and truthful writers are the longest livers. - - - - -AMERICANISMS AND BRITICISMS. - - -Messrs. Harper Bros., of New York, have lately printed and published, -and Mr. Brander Matthews has written, the prettiest possible little -book, called ‘Americanisms and Briticisms, with other Essays on other -Isms.’ To slip it into your pocket when first you see it is an almost -irresistible impulse, and yet--would you believe it?--this pretty -little book is in reality a bomb, intended to go off and damage British -authors by preventing them from being so much as quoted in the States. -Mr. Brander Matthews, however, is so obviously a good-natured man, and -his little fit of the spleen is so evidently of a passing character, -that it is really not otherwise than agreeable to handle his bombshell -gently and to inquire how it could possibly come about that the -children of one family should ever be invited to fall out and strive -and fight over their little books and papers. - -It is easy to accede something to Mr. Matthews. Englishmen are often -provoking, and not infrequently insolent. The airs they give themselves -are ridiculous, but nobody really minds them in these moods; and, _per -contra_, Americans are not easily laughed out of a good conceit of -themselves, and have been known to be as disagreeable as they could. - -To try to make ‘an international affair’ over the ‘u’ in honour and -the second ‘l’ in traveller is surely a task beneath the dignity -of anyone who does not live by penning paragraphs for the evening -papers, yet this is very much what Mr. Matthews attempts to do in this -pleasingly-bound little volume. It is rank McKinleyism from one end -to the other. ‘Every nation,’ says he, ‘ought to be able to supply -its own second-rate books, and to borrow from abroad only the best -the foreigner has to offer it.’ What invidious distinctions! Who is -to prepare the classification? I don’t understand this Tariff at all. -If anything of the kind were true, which it is not, I should have -said it was just the other way, and that a nation, if it really were -one, would best foster its traditions and maintain its vitality by -consuming its own first-rate books--its Shakespeares and Bacons, its -Taylors and Miltons, its Drydens and Gibbons, its Wordsworths and -Tennysons--whilst it might very well be glad to vary the scene a little -by borrowing from abroad less vitalizing but none the less agreeable -wares. - -But the whole notion is preposterous. In Fish and Potatoes a ring is -possible, but hardly in Ideas. What is the good of being educated and -laboriously acquiring foreign tongues and lingoes--getting to know, -for instance, what a ‘freight’ train is and what a bobolink--if I -am to be prevented by a diseased patriotism from reading whatever I -choose in any language I can? Mr. Matthews’ wrath, or his seeming -wrath--for it is impossible to suppose that he is really angry--grows -redder as he proceeds. ‘It cannot,’ he exclaims, ‘be said too often or -too emphatically that the British are foreigners, and their ideals in -life, in literature, in politics, in taste, in art’ (why not add ‘in -victuals and drink?’) ‘are not our ideals.’ - -What rant this is! Mr. Matthews, however frequently and loudly he -repeats himself, cannot unchain the canons of taste and compel them to -be domiciled exclusively in America; nor can he hope to persuade the -more intelligent of his countrymen to sail to the devil in an ark of -their own sole construction. Artists all the world over are subject -to the same laws. Nations, however big, are not the arbiters of good -taste, though they may be excellent exemplars of bad. As for Mr. -Matthews’ determination to call Britons foreigners, that is his matter, -but feelings of this kind, to do any harm, must be both reciprocal and -general. The majority of reasonable Englishmen and Americans will, -except when angry, feel it as hard to call one another foreigners, as -John Bright once declared he would find it hard to shout ‘bastard’ -after the issue of a marriage between a man and his deceased wife’s -sister. - -There is a portrait of Mr. Matthews at the beginning of this book or -bomb of his, and he does not look in the least like a foreigner. I -am sorry to disappoint him, but truth will out. The fact is that Mr. -Matthews has no mind for reciprocity; he advises Cousin Sam to have -nothing to do with John Bull’s second-rate performances, but he feels -a very pardonable pride in the fact that John Bull more and more reads -his cousin’s short stories and other things of the kind. - -He gives a countrywoman of his, Miss Agnes Repplier, quite a -scolding for quoting in a little book of hers no less than fifteen -British authors of very varying degrees of merit. Why, in the name -of common-sense, should she not if they serve her turn? Was a -more ludicrous passage than the following ever penned? It follows -immediately after the enumeration of the fifteen authors just referred -to: - - - ‘But there is nothing from Lowell, than whom a more quotable - writer never lived. In like manner, we find Miss Repplier - discussing the novels and characters of Miss Austen and of Scott, - of Dickens, of Thackeray, and of George Eliot, but never once - referring to the novels or characters of Hawthorne. Just how it - was possible for any clever American woman to write nine essays - in criticism, rich in references and quotations, without once - happening on Lowell or on Hawthorne, is to me inexplicable.’ - - -O Patriotism! what follies are committed in thy name! - -The fact is, it is a weak point in certain American writers of -‘the patriotic school’ to be for ever dragging in and puffing the -native article, just because it is native and for no other reason -whatever; as if it mattered an atom whether an author whom, whilst -you are discussing literature, you find it convenient to quote was -born in Boston, Lincoln, or Boston, Massachusetts. One wearies of it -indescribably. It is always Professor This or Colonel That. If you want -to quote, quote and let your reader judge your samples; but do not -worry him into rudeness by clawing and scraping. - -Here we all are, Heaven knows how many million of us, speaking, writing -and spelling the English language more or less ungrammatically in a -world as full as it can hold of sorrows and cares, and fustian and -folly. Literature is a solace and a charm. I will not stop for a -moment in my headlong course to compare it with tobacco; though if it -ever came to the vote, mine would be cast for letters. Men and women -have been born in America, as in Great Britain and Ireland, who have -written books, poems, and songs which have lightened sorrow, eased -pain, made childhood fascinating, middle-age endurable, and old age -comfortable. They will go on being born and doing this in both places. -What reader cares a snap of his finger where the man was cradled who -makes him for awhile forget himself. Nationality indeed! It is not a -question of Puffendorf or Grotius or Wheaton, even in the American -edition with Mr. Dana’s notes, but of enjoyment, of happiness, out of -which we do not intend to be fleeced. Let us throw all our books into -hotch-pot. Who cares about spelling? Milton spelt ‘dog’ with two g’s. -The American Milton, when he comes, may spell it with three, while all -the world wonders, if he is so minded. - -But we are already in hotch-pot. Cooper and Irving, Longfellow, Bryant -and Poe, Hawthorne, Lowell, and Whitman, and living writers by the -score from the other side of the sea, are indistinguishably mixed with -our own books and authors. The boundaries are hopelessly confused, and -it is far too late for Mr. Brander Matthews to come upon the scene with -chalk and tape, and try to mark us off into rival camps. - -There is some girding and gibing, of course. Authors and critics -cannot help nagging at one another. Some affect the grand air, ‘assume -the god,’ and attempt to distinguish, as Mr. Matthews himself does -in this little book of his, ‘between the authors who are not to be -taken seriously, between the man of letters who is somebody and the -scribbler who is merely, in the French phrase, _quelconque_, nobody in -particular.’ Others, again, though leading quiet, decent lives, pass -themselves off in literature as swaggering Bohemians, cut-and-thrust -men. When these meet there must be blows--pen-and-ink blows, as -bloodless as a French duel. All the time the stream of events flows -gigantically along. But to the end of all things Man will require to -be interested, to be taken out of himself, to be amused; and that -interest, that zest, that amusement, he will find where he can--at home -or abroad, with alien friends or alien enemies: what cares he? - - - - -AUTHORS AND CRITICS. - - -At the gracious Christmas season of the year we are reminded by -nearly every post of our duty towards our neighbours, meaning thereby -not merely those who live within what Wordsworth, with greater -familiarity than precision, has defined as ‘an easy walk,’ but, -with few exceptions, mainly of a party character, all mankind. The -once wide boundaries of an Englishman’s sphere of hatred are sorely -circumscribed. We are now expected not only to love all peoples, which -in theory is easy enough, particularly if we are no great travellers, -but to read their publications in translations unverified by -affidavit, which in practice is very hard. Yet if we do not do it, we -are Chauvinists, which has a horrid sound. - -Much is now expected of a man. Even in his leisure hours, when his feet -are on the hob, he must be zealous in some cause, say Realism; serious, -as he reflects upon the interests of literature and the position of -authors; and, above all and hardest of all, he must be sympathetic. -Irony he should eschew, and levity, but disquisitions on duty are never -out of place. - -This disposition of mind, however praiseworthy, makes the aspect of -things heavy, and yet this is the very moment selected by certain -novelists, playwrights, and irresponsible persons of that kind, to whom -we have been long accustomed to look for relaxation, to begin prating, -not of their duty to please us, but of our duty to appreciate them. -It appears that we owe a duty to our contemporaries who write, which -is not merely passive, that is, to abstain from slandering them, but -active, namely, to read and admire them. - -The authors who grumble and explain the merits of their own things are -not the denizens of Grub Street, or those poor neglected souls to one -of whom Mr. Alfred Austin lately addressed these consolatory words: - - - ‘Friend, be not fretful if the voice of fame, - Along the narrow way of hurrying men, - Where unto echo echo shouts again, - Be all day long not noisy with your name.’ - - -No; it is the shouted authors who are most discontented; the men who -have best availed themselves of all the resources of civilization, who -belong to syndicates, employ agents, have a price-current, and know -what it is to be paid half a dozen times over for the same thing. Even -the prospect of American copyright and taxing all the intelligence -of a reading Republic--even this does not satisfy them. They want to -be classics in their own lifetime, and to be spoken and written of as -if they were already embalmed in the memory of a grateful nation. To -speak or write lightly of departed genius is offensive, but people -who have the luck to be alive must not expect to be taken quite so -seriously. But they do. Everything is taken seriously in these grim -days, even short stories. There is said to be a demand for short -stories, begotten, amongst many other things, by that reckless parent, -the Spirit of the Age. There is no such demand. The one and only -demand poor wearied humanity has ever made, or will ever make, of the -story-teller, be he as long-winded as Richardson or as breathless -as Kipling, is to be made self-forgetful for a season. Interest me -somehow, anyhow; make me mindless of the room I am sitting in, of the -people about me; soothe me, excite me, tickle me, make me better, -make me worse; do what you like with me, only make it possible for me -to keep reading on, and a joy to do so. This is our demand. There is -nothing unreasonable in it. It is matter of experience. Authors have -done all this for us, and are doing it to-day. It is their trade, and a -glorious one. - -But the only thing that concerns the reader is the book he holds in -his hand. He cannot derive inspiration from any other quarter. To the -author the characters may be living, he may have lived amongst them for -months; they may be inexpressibly dear to him, and his fine eyes may -fill with tears as he thinks of Jane or Sarah, but this avails naught -to the reader. Our authors are too apt to forget this, and to tell us -what they think of their own figments, and how they came to write their -books. The imitation of Carlyle cannot be generally recommended, but in -one respect, at all events, his example should be followed. Though he -made fuss enough whilst he was writing a book, as soon as he had done -with it he never mentioned it again. - -This sudden display of nervousness on the part of authors is perhaps -partly due to their unreasonable confusion of the Reviewers with the -Readers. The great mass of criticism is, delivered _vivâ voce_, and -never appears in print at all. This spoken criticism is of far greater -importance than printed criticism. It is repeated again and again, in -all sorts of places, on hundreds of occasions, and cannot fail to make -dints in people’s minds, whereas the current printed criticism of the -week runs lightly off the surface. ‘Press notices,’ as they are called, -have no longer ‘boodle’ in them, if I may use a word the genius of Mr. -Stevenson has already consecrated for all delightful use. The pen may, -in peaceful times, be mightier than the sword, but in this matter of -criticism of our contemporaries the tongue is mightier than the pen. -Authors should remember this. - -The volume of unprinted criticism is immense, and its force amazing. -Lunching last year at a chophouse, I was startled to hear a really -important oath emerge from the lips of a clerkly-looking man who -sat opposite me, and before whom the hurried waiter had placed a -chump-chop. ‘Take the thing away,’ cried the man with the oath -aforesaid, ‘and bring me a loin chop.’ Then, observing the surprise I -could not conceal that an occurrence so trifling should have evoked an -expression so forcible, the man muttered half to himself and half to -me: ‘There is nothing I hate so much in the wide world as a chump-chop, -unless indeed it be’ (speaking slowly and thoughtfully) ‘the poetry of -Mr. ----,’ and here the fellow, unabashed, named right out the name of -a living poet who, in the horrid phrase of the second-hand booksellers, -is ‘much esteemed’ by himself, and some others. After this explosion -of feeling the conversation between us became frankly literary, but I -contrived to learn in the course of it that this chump-chop-hater was a -clerk in an insurance office, and had never printed a line in his life. -He was, as sufficiently appears, a whimsical fellow, full of strange -oaths and stranger prejudice, but for criticism of contemporary -authors--keen, searching, detached, genuine--it would be impossible -to find his equal in the Press. The man is living yet--he was lately -seen in Cheapside, elbowing his way through the crowd with a masterful -air, and so long as he lives he criticises, and what is more, permeates -his circle--for he must live somewhere--with his opinions. These are -your gods, O Authors! It is these voices which swell the real chorus -of praise or blame. These judges are untainted by hatreds, strangers -to jealousy; your vanity, your egotism, your necktie, your anecdotes, -do not prevent _them_ from enjoying your books or revelling in your -humour, be it new or old, for they do not know you by sight; but -neither will the praise of the _Athenæum_, or of any newspaper, or the -conventional respect of other authors save your productions, your poem, -your novel, your drama, your collected trifles, from the shafts of -their ridicule or the dust of their indifference. - -But do we owe any duty to contemporary authors? Clearly we are at -liberty to talk about them and their ‘work’ as much as ever we -choose--at dinner-tables, in libraries and smoking-rooms, in railway -carriages (if we like shouting and do not mind being inaudible), in -boats, at balls, in Courts of Justice, and other places, _ejusdem -generis_, at Congresses (before, during, and after the speeches), -and, indeed, everywhere and at all times, if we are so disposed and -can find anybody to listen, or even to seem to listen, to us. Of this -liberty we can never be deprived even by a veto of authors _ad hoc_, -and, as already stated, the free exercise of it is a far more important -constituent in the manufacture of literary opinion than printed notices -of books. - -But though we are just as much entitled to express in conversation our -delight in, or abhorrence of, a contemporary author as we are to bless -or curse the weather, it cannot be said to be our duty to do so. No -adult stands in a fiduciary relationship to another adult in the matter -of his reading. If we like a book very much, it is only natural to say -so; but if we do not like it, we may say so or hold our tongues as we -choose. - -Suppose one dreamt (gentle reader, remember this is nothing but a -dream) that there was one woebegone creature alive at this moment in -this Britain of ours who cordially disliked, and shrank from, the -poetry of Sir Edwin Arnold, Mr. Lewis Morris, and Mr. Alfred Austin, -who could not away with ‘Robert Elsmere,’ ‘The Wages of Sin,’ or -‘Donovan,’ who abhorred the writings of Mrs. Lynn Linton, Archdeacon -Farrar, and Mr. Shorthouse, who hated ‘Amiel’s Journal,’ ‘Marie -Bashkirtseff,’ and ‘Little Lord Fauntleroy,’ who found it easy, and -even helpful, to live for six months at a time without reading a new -novel by Mr. Hall Caine or Mr. Black, who failed to respond to the -careful and often-repeated raptures of those wise critics who assured -him that the author of ‘Amos Barton’ and ‘Middlemarch’ cowers and -crouches by the side of Mr. Hardy and Mr. Meredith; who, when he wants -to laugh very heartily indeed, does not take down the works of---- But -my list is long enough for a dream--could you honestly advise that -man to run amuck in print against all these powerful and delightful -writers? What good could come of it? The good people who like a writer -will not like him or her any the less because you don’t. Reading is -a democratic pursuit, else why are children taught it--very badly, -no doubt--out of the rates? Sensible men and foolish men alike resent -being dictated to about their contemporaries. They are willing to learn -about the dead, but they crave leave to lay their own hands upon the -living. - -‘Who set you up as a judge over us?’ they cry testily, when they are -told by a perfect stranger that they ought not to like what they do -like, and ought to like what they go to sleep over. - -Schopenhauer, a man who hated much, in his ‘Parerga,’ fervently desires -a literary journal which ‘should be a dam against the unconscionable -scribbling of the age, the everlasting deluge of bad and useless books.’ - -He proceeds (I am quoting from Mr. Saunders’ translation): - -‘If there were such a paper as I mean, every bad writer, every -brainless compiler, every plagiarist from others’ books, every hollow -and incapable place-hunter, every sham philosopher, every vain and -languishing poetaster, would shudder at the prospect of the pillory -in which his bad work would inevitably have to stand soon after -publication.’ - -It is an animated passage, and reeks of the shambles. How awkward for -poor so-and-so! one murmurs whilst reading. But even were the thing -possible, I demur to the ferocity. There is no need to be so angry. -A dishonest and lazy plumber does more harm in a week than all the -poetasters of the Christian era. But the thing is not possible, as the -robust sense of Schopenhauer made plain to him. He goes on: - -‘The ideal journal could, to be sure, be written only by people who -joined incorruptible honesty with rare knowledge and still rarer power -of judgment, so that, perhaps, there could, at the very most, be one, -_and even hardly one_, in the whole country; but there it would stand, -like a just Areopagus, every member of which would have to be elected -by all the others.’ - -Who, I wonder, would elect the first member of this just Ruin? He -would, I suppose, be nominated by the subscribers of the necessary -capital, and would then proceed to gather round him, were his terms -better than his quarters, the gang we all know so well, incorruptible -as Robespierre, not quite so learned as Selden, and with powers of -judgment which can only be described as varying. - -It is of course obvious that no journal, be its contributors who they -may, can exercise criminal jurisdiction over bad or stupid authors. -The hue and cry has before now been raised at the heels of a popular -author, but always to the great enrichment of the rascal. The reading -community owes no allegiance, and pays no obedience, to the critical -journals, who, if they really want to injure an author, and deprive him -of his little meed of contemporary praise and profit, should leave him -severely alone. To refer to him is to advertise him. - -The principles of taste, the art of criticism, are not acquired amidst -the hurly-burly of living authors and the hasty judgments thereupon -of hasty critics, but by the study, careful and reverential, of the -immortal dead. In this study the critics are of immense use to us. -Dryden, Addison, Gray, Coleridge, Lamb, Hazlitt, Bagehot, Swinburne, -reveal to us their highest critical powers not whilst vivisecting a -contemporary, but when expounding the anatomy of departed greatness. - -Teach me rightly to admire Milton and Keats, and I will find my own -criticism of living poets. Help me to enjoy, however feebly, Homer and -Dante, and I will promise not to lose my head over Pollok’s ‘Course of -Time,’ or Mr. Bailey’s ‘Festus.’ Fire my enthusiasm for Henry Vaughan -and George Herbert, and I shall be able to distinguish between the -muses of Miss Frances Ridley Havergal and of Miss Christina Rossetti. -Train me to become a citizen of the true Republic of Letters, and I -shall not be found on my knees before false gods, or trooping with the -vulgar to crown with laurel brazen brows. - -In conclusion, one may say that though authors cannot be expected to -love their critics, they might do well to remember that it is not the -critics who print, but the reading community whose judgments determine -an author’s place amongst contemporary writers. It may be annoying to -be sneered at by an anonymous critic in the _Saturday Review_, but it -is quite as bad to be sneered at by a stranger in a railway carriage. -The printed sneer may be read by more people than overheard the spoken -sneer; but printed sneers are not easily transferred from writer to -reader in their original malice. One may enjoy a sneer without sneering. - -Authors may also advantageously remember that we live in hurried -times, and enjoy scanty leisure for reading, and that of necessity -the greater fraction of that leisure belongs to the dead. Merely a -nodding acquaintance with Shakespeare is not maintained without a -considerable expenditure of time. The volumes with which every man of -ordinary literary taste would wish to be familiar can only be numbered -by thousands. We must therefore be allowed time, and there is always -plenty. Every good poem, novel, play, at once joins and becomes part -and parcel of the permanent stock of English literature, and some time -or another will be read and criticised. It is quite safe. Every author -of spirit repudiates with lofty scorn the notion that he writes in -obedience to any mandate from the public. It is the wretched, degraded -politician whose talk is of mandates; authors know nothing of mandates, -they have missions. But if so, they must be content to bide their time. -If a town does turn out to meet a missionary, it is usually not with -loud applause, but with large stones. - -As for the critics, the majority of them no doubt only do what they -are told. It is a thousand pities the habit of reviewing so many new -books in the literary papers has become general. It is a trade thing. -Were a literary paper to have no advertising columns, do you suppose -it would review half the new books it does? Certainly not. It gets -the books, and it gets the advertisements, and then it does the best -it can for itself and its readers by distributing the former amongst -its contributors with the request that they will make as lively ‘copy’ -as they can out of the materials thus provided them. The reviews are -written and printed; then begins the wail of the author: My reviewer, -says he, has not done me justice; his object appears to have been, -not to show me off, but himself. There is no sober exposition of _my_ -plan, _my_ purpose, _my_ book, but only a parade of the reviewer’s -own reading and a crackling of his thorns under my pot. The author’s -complaint is usually just, but he should remember that in nine cases -out of ten his book calls for no review, and certainly would receive -none on its merits. The review is not written for those who have read -or intend to read the book, but for a crowd of people who do not mean -to read it, but who want to be amused or interested by a so-called -review of it, which must therefore be an independent, substantive -literary production. - -What a mercy it would be if the critical journals felt themselves -free to choose their own subjects, new and old, and recognised that -it was their duty to help to form the taste of their readers, and not -merely to pick their provender for them or to promote the prosperity of -publishers, which, as a matter of fact, they can no longer do. - -The critics who criticise in print, were they left to themselves, -would be found praising enthusiastically all they found praiseworthy -in contemporary effort. Even now, when their tempers must be sorely -tried by the dreary wilderness in which they are compelled to sojourn, -it is marvellous how quick they are to snuff the fresh, blowing airs -of genuine talent. It is slander to say that present-day critics are -grudging of praise. They are far too free with it. Had they less -hack-work, they might by chance become a little more fastidious; but -even if this were so, it would only increase their joy, delight, and -satisfaction in making the discovery that somebody or another--some -Stevenson, some Barrie, some Kipling--had actually written something -which was not only in form but in fact a new book. - -Fiery souls there would no doubt always be who would insist, on -occasions, in rushing out to strike the shield of some many-editioned -living author, and defy him to mortal combat. An occasional fray of -the kind is always an agreeable incident, but a wise editor would do -his best to control the noble rage of his contributors, bidding them -remember the words of John Keats: ‘The sure way, Bailey, is first to -know a man’s faults, and then be passive.’ - -The time and space liberated by giving up the so-called criticism of -bad and insignificant books could be devoted to the real criticism -of the few living and the many dead classics; and, for one does -occasionally get a little weary of the grand style, with arguments -and discussions about smaller folk. If basting there must be, let it -be the basting of the brainless compilers, the plagiarists, the sham -philosophers, and the languishing poetasters of the past. Dead donkeys -are far more amusing than living ones, and make much better texts for -fierce critics than men with wives and families dependent upon them. -The vagaries of great authors have often done harm in their generation; -the follies of small ones, including the supreme and most visible of -all their follies, that of thinking themselves great, have never harmed -a human creature. - - -_Elliot Stock, Paternoster Row, London._ - - - -***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MEN, WOMEN, AND BOOKS*** - - -******* This file should be named 64985-0.txt or 64985-0.zip ******* - - -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: -http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/6/4/9/8/64985 - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it -under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this -eBook or online at <a -href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you are not -located in the United States, you'll have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this ebook.</p> -<p>Title: Men, Women, and Books</p> -<p>Author: Augustine Birrell</p> -<p>Release Date: April 3, 2021 [eBook #64985]</p> -<p>Language: English</p> -<p>Character set encoding: UTF-8</p> -<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MEN, WOMEN, AND BOOKS***</p> -<p> </p> -<h4 class="pgx" title="">E-text prepared by Martin Pettit<br /> - and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br /> - (https://www.pgdp.net)<br /> - from page images generously made available by<br /> - Internet Archive<br /> - (https://archive.org)</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 - https://archive.org/details/menwomenbooks00birruoft - </td> - </tr> -</table> -<p> </p> -<hr class="pgx" /> -<p> </p> -<p> </p> -<p> </p> - -<div class="center"><img src="images/title.jpg" alt="title page" /></div> - -<hr /> - -<h1>ESSAYS ABOUT<br /> MEN, WOMEN, AND BOOKS</h1> - -<hr /> - -<div class="center"><img src="images/ad.jpg" alt="WORKS BY THE SAME AUTHOR" /></div> - -<hr /> - -<p class="bold2">MEN, WOMEN, AND<br />BOOKS</p> - -<p class="bold space-above">BY</p> - -<p class="bold2">AUGUSTINE BIRRELL</p> - -<p class="bold">AUTHOR OF ‘OBITER DICTA,’ ETC.</p> - -<p class="bold space-above">LONDON: ELLIOT STOCK<br />62, PATERNOSTER ROW, E.C.<br />1910</p> - -<hr /> - -<h2>CONTENTS</h2> - -<hr class="smler" /> - -<table summary="CONTENTS"> - <tr> - <td></td> - <td><span class="smaller">PAGE</span></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">DEAN SWIFT</td> - <td><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">LORD BOLINGBROKE</td> - <td><a href="#Page_16">16</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">STERNE</td> - <td><a href="#Page_28">28</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">DR. JOHNSON</td> - <td><a href="#Page_38">38</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">RICHARD CUMBERLAND</td> - <td><a href="#Page_47">47</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">ALEXANDER KNOX AND THOMAS DE QUINCEY</td> - <td><a href="#Page_58">58</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">HANNAH MORE</td> - <td><a href="#Page_70">70</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF</td> - <td><a href="#Page_81">81</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">SIR JOHN VANBRUGH</td> - <td><a href="#Page_96">96</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">JOHN GAY</td> - <td><a href="#Page_109">109</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">ROGER NORTH’S AUTOBIOGRAPHY</td> - <td><a href="#Page_121">121</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">BOOKS OLD AND NEW</td> - <td><a href="#Page_134">134</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">BOOK-BINDING</td> - <td><a href="#Page_147">147</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">POETS LAUREATE</td> - <td><a href="#Page_157">157</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">PARLIAMENTARY CANDIDATES</td> - <td><a href="#Page_167">167</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">THE BONÂ-FIDE TRAVELLER</td> - <td><a href="#Page_176">176</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">‘HOURS IN A LIBRARY’</td> - <td><a href="#Page_189">189</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">AMERICANISMS AND BRITICISMS</td> - <td><a href="#Page_199">199</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">AUTHORS AND CRITICS</td> - <td><a href="#Page_210">210</a></td> - </tr> -</table> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> - -<h2>DEAN SWIFT.</h2> - -<p>Of writing books about Dean Swift there is no end. I make no complaint, -because I find no fault; I express no wonder, for I feel none. The -subject is, and must always remain, one of strange fascination. We -have no author like the Dean of St. Patrick’s. It has been said of -Wordsworth that good-luck usually attended those who have written about -him. The same thing may be said, with at least equal truth, about -Swift. There are a great many books about him, and with few exceptions -they are all interesting.</p> - -<p>A man who has had his tale told<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span> both by Johnson and by Scott ought -to be comprehensible. Swift has been, on the whole, lucky with his -more recent biographers. Dr. Craik’s is a judicious life, Mitford’s an -admirable sketch, Forster’s a valuable fragment; Mr. Leslie Stephen -never fails to get to close quarters with his subject. Then there -are anecdotes without end—all bubbling with vitality—letters, and -journals. And yet, when you have read all that is to be read, what are -you to say—what to think?</p> - -<p>No fouler pen than Swift’s has soiled our literature. His language -is horrible from first to last. He is full of odious images, of base -and abominable allusions. It would be a labour of Hercules to cleanse -his pages. His love-letters are defaced by his incurable coarseness. -This habit of his is so inveterate that it seems a miracle he kept -his sermons<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span> free from his blackguard phrases. It is a question not -of morality, but of decency, whether it is becoming to sit in the -same room with the works of this divine. How the good Sir Walter ever -managed to see him through the press is amazing. In this matter Swift -is inexcusable.</p> - -<p>Then his unfeeling temper, his domineering brutality—the tears he -drew, the discomfort he occasioned.</p> - -<blockquote><p>‘Swift, dining at a house, where the part of the tablecloth which -was next him happened to have a small hole, tore it as wide as he -could, and ate his soup through it; his reason for such behaviour -was, as he said, to mortify the lady of the house, and to teach -her to pay a proper attention to housewifery.’</p></blockquote> - -<p>One is glad to know he sometimes met his match. He slept one night at -an inn kept by a widow lady of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span> very respectable family, Mrs. Seneca, -of Drogheda. In the morning he made a violent complaint of the sheets -being dirty.</p> - -<p>‘Dirty, indeed!’ exclaimed Mrs. Seneca; ‘you are the last man, doctor, -that should complain of dirty sheets.’</p> - -<p>And so, indeed, he was, for he had just published the ‘Lady’s -Dressing-room,’ a very dirty sheet indeed.</p> - -<p>Honour to Mrs. Seneca, of Drogheda!</p> - -<p>This side of the account needs no vouching; but there is another side.</p> - -<p>In 1705 Addison made a present of his book of travels to Dr. Swift, in -the blank leaf of which he wrote the following words:</p> - -<p class="center">‘To Dr. Jonathan Swift,<br />The most agreeable companion,<br /> -The truest friend,<br />And the greatest genius of his age.’</p> - -<p>Addison was not lavish of epithets. His geese, Ambrose Philips -excepted,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span> were geese, not swans. His testimony is not to be -shaken—and what a testimony it is!</p> - -<p>Then there is Stella’s Swift. As for Stella herself, I have never felt -I knew enough about her to join very heartily in Thackeray’s raptures: -‘Who has not in his mind an image of Stella? Who does not love her? -Fair and tender creature! Pure and affectionate heart.... Gentle lady! -so lovely, so loving, so unhappy.... You are one of the saints of -English story.’ This may be so, but all I feel I know about Stella is, -that Swift loved her. That is certain, at all events.</p> - -<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div>‘If this be error, and upon we proved,</div> -<div>I never writ, and no man ever loved.’</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>The verses to Stella are altogether lovely:</p> - -<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div>‘But, Stella, say what evil tongue</div> -<div>Reports you are no longer young,</div> -<div>That Time sits with his scythe to mow</div> -<div>Where erst sat Cupid with his bow,</div> -<div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span>That half your locks are turned to gray</div> -<div>I’ll ne’er believe a word they say.</div> -<div>’Tis true, but let it not be known,</div> -<div>My eyes are somewhat dimmish grown.’</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>And again:</p> - -<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div>‘Oh! then, whatever Heaven intends,</div> -<div>Take pity on your pitying friends!</div> -<div>Nor let your ills affect your mind</div> -<div>To fancy they can be unkind.</div> -<div>Me, surely me, you ought to spare</div> -<div>Who gladly would your suffering share,</div> -<div>Or give my scrap of life to you</div> -<div>And think it far beneath your due;</div> -<div>You, to whose care so oft I owe</div> -<div>That I’m alive to tell you so.’</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>We are all strangely woven in one piece, as Shakespeare says. These -verses of Swift irresistibly remind their readers of Cowper’s lines to -Mrs. Unwin.</p> - -<p>Swift’s prose is famous all the world over. To say anything about -it is superfluous. David Hume indeed found fault with it. Hume paid -great attention to the English language, and by the time he died had -come to write it with much facility and creditable accuracy; but -Swift<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span> is one of the masters of English prose. But how admirable -also is his poetry—easy, yet never slipshod! It lacks one quality -only—imagination. There is not a fine phrase, a magical line to be -found in it, such as may occasionally be found in—let us say—Butler. -Yet, as a whole, Swift is a far more enjoyable poet than Butler.</p> - -<p>Swift has unhappily written some abominable verses, which ought never -to have been set up in type; but the ‘Legion Club,’ the verses on -his own death, ‘Cadenus and Vanessa,’ the ‘Rhapsody on Poetry,’ the -tremendous lines on the ‘Day of Judgment,’ and many others, all belong -to enjoyable poetry, and can never lose their freshness, their charm, -their vitality. Amongst the poets of the eighteenth century Swift sits -secure, for he can never go out of fashion.</p> - -<p>His hatred of mankind seems<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> genuine; there is nothing <i>falsetto</i> -about it. He is always in sober, deadly earnest when he abuses his -fellow-men. What an odd revenge we have taken! His gospel of hatred, -his testament of woe—his ‘Gulliver,’ upon which he expended the -treasures of his wit, and into which he instilled the concentrated -essence of his rage—has become a child’s book, and has been read with -wonder and delight by generations of innocents. After all, it is a -kindly place, this planet, and the best use we have for our cynics is -to let them amuse the junior portion of our population.</p> - -<p>I only know one good-humoured anecdote of Swift; it is very slight, -but it is fair to tell it. He dined one day in the company of the Lord -Keeper, his son, and their two ladies, with Mr. Cæsar, Treasurer of -the Navy, at his house in the City. They happened to talk of Brutus, -and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> Swift said something in his praise, and then, as it were, suddenly -recollecting himself, said:</p> - -<p>‘Mr. Cæsar, I beg your pardon.’</p> - -<p>One can fancy this occasioning a pleasant ripple of laughter.</p> - -<p>There is another story I cannot lay my hands on to verify, but it is to -this effect: Faulkner, Swift’s Dublin publisher, years after the Dean’s -death, was dining with some friends, who rallied him upon his odd way -of eating some dish—I think, asparagus. He confessed Swift had told -him it was the right way; therefore, they laughed the louder, until -Faulkner, growing a little angry, exclaimed:</p> - -<p>‘I tell you what it is, gentlemen: if you had ever dined with the Dean, -you would have eaten your asparagus as he bade you.’</p> - -<p>Truly a wonderful man—imperious, masterful. Yet his state is not -kingly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> like Johnson’s—it is tyrannical, sinister, forbidding.</p> - -<p>Nobody has brought out more effectively than Mr. Churton Collins<a name="FNanchor_A_1" id="FNanchor_A_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_A_1" >[A]</a> -Swift’s almost ceaseless literary activity. To turn over Scott’s -nineteen volumes is to get some notion of it. It is not a pleasant -task, for Swift was an unclean spirit; but he fascinates and makes -the reader long to peep behind the veil, and penetrate the secret of -this horrible, yet loveable, because beloved, man. Mr. Collins is -rather short with this longing on the part of the reader. He does -not believe in any secret; he would have us believe that it is all -as plain as a pikestaff. Swift was never mad, and was never married. -Stella was a well-regulated damsel, who, though she would have liked -very much to have been Mrs. Dean, soon <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span>recognised that her friend -was not a marrying man, and was, therefore, well content for the rest -of her days to share his society with Mrs. Dingley. Vanessa was an -ill-regulated damsel, who had not the wit to see that her lover was -not a marrying man, and, in the most vulgar fashion possible, thrust -herself most inconveniently upon his notice, received a snubbing, took -to drink, and died of the spleen. As for the notion that Swift died -mad, Mr. Collins conceives himself to get rid of that by reprinting a -vague and most inconclusive letter of Dr. Bucknill’s. The mystery and -the misery of Swift’s life have not been got rid of by Mr. Collins. -He has left them where he found them—at large. He complains, perhaps -justly, that Scott never took the trouble to form any clear impression -of Swift’s character. Yet we must say that we understand Sir<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> Walter’s -Swift better than we do Mr. Collins’. Whether the Dean married Stella -can never be known. For our part, we think he did not; but to assert -positively that no marriage took place, as Mr. Collins does, is to -carry dogmatism too far.</p> - -<p>A good deal of fault has lately been found with Thackeray’s lecture -on Swift. We still think it both delightful and just. The rhapsody -about Stella, as I have already hinted, is not to our mind. Rhapsodies -about real women are usually out of place. Stella was no saint, but a -quick-witted, sharp-tongued hussy, whose fate it was to win the love -and pacify the soul of the greatest Englishman of his time—for to call -Swift an Irishman is sheer folly. But, apart from this not unnatural -slip, what, I wonder, is the matter with Thackeray’s lecture, regarded, -not as a storehouse of facts, or as an <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span>estimate of Swift’s writings, -but as a sketch of character? Mr. Collins says quite as harsh things -about Swift as are to be found in Thackeray’s lecture, but he does -not attempt, as Thackeray does, to throw a strong light upon this -strange and moving figure. It is a hard thing to attempt—failure in -such a case is almost inevitable; but I do not think Thackeray did -fail. An ounce of mother-wit is often worth a pound of clergy. Insight -is not always the child of study. But here, again, the matter should -be brought to the test by each reader for himself. Read Thackeray’s -lecture once again.</p> - -<p>What can be happier or truer than his comparison of Swift with a -highwayman disappointed of his plunder?</p> - -<blockquote><p>‘The great prize has not come yet. The coach with the mitre and -crosier<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> in it, which he intends to have for his share, has -been delayed on the way from St. James’s. The mails wait until -nightfall, when his runners come and tell him that the coach has -taken a different road and escaped him. So he fires his pistols -into the air with a curse, and rides away in his own country.’</p></blockquote> - -<p>Thackeray’s criticism is severe, but is it not just? Are we to stand -by and hear our nature libelled, and our purest affections beslimed, -without a word of protest? ‘I think I would rather have had a potato -and a friendly word from Goldsmith than have been beholden to the -Dean for a guinea and a dinner.’ So would I. But no one of the Dean’s -numerous critics was more keenly alive than Thackeray to the majesty -and splendour of Swift’s genius, and to his occasional flashes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> of -tenderness and love. That amazing person, Lord Jeffrey, in one of his -too numerous contributions to the <i>Edinburgh Review</i>, wrote of the -poverty of Swift’s style. Lord Jeffrey was, we hope, a professional -critic, not an amateur.</p> - -<h3>FOOTNOTE:</h3> - -<p><a name="Footnote_A_1" id="Footnote_A_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_A_1">[A]</a> ‘Jonathan Swift,’ by J. Churton Collins: Chatto & Windus, -1893.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span></p> - -<h2>LORD BOLINGBROKE.</h2> - -<p>The most accomplished of all our political rascals, Lord Bolingbroke, -who once, if the author of ‘Animated Nature’ is to be believed, ran -naked through the Park, has, in his otherwise pinchbeck ‘Reflections -in Exile,’ one quaint fancy. He suggests that the exile, instead -of mourning the deprivation of the society of his friends, should -take a pencil (the passage is not before me) and make a list of his -acquaintances, and then ask himself which of the number he wants to see -at the moment. It is, no doubt, always wise to be particular. Delusion -as well as fraud loves to lurk in generalities. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span></p> - -<p>As for this Bolingbroke himself, that he was a consummate scoundrel is -now universally admitted; but his mental qualifications, though great, -still excite differences of opinion. Even those who are comforted by -his style and soothed by the rise and fall of his sentences, are fain -to admit that had his classic head been severed from his shoulders a -rogue would have met with his deserts. He has been long since stripped -of all his fine pretences, and, morally speaking, runs as naked through -the pages of history as erst he did (according to Goldsmith) across -Hyde Park.</p> - -<p>That Bolingbroke had it in him to have been a great Parliamentarian is -certain. He knew ‘the nature of that assembly,’ and that ‘they grow, -like hounds, fond of the man who shows them sport, and by whose halloo -they are used to be encouraged.’ Like the rascally lawyer in ‘Guy<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> -Mannering,’ Mr. Gilbert Glossin, he could do a good piece of work when -so minded. But he was seldom so minded, and consequently he failed to -come up to the easy standard of his day, and thus brought it about that -by his side Sir Robert Walpole appears in the wings and aspect of an -angel.</p> - -<p>St. John has now nothing to wear but his wit and his style; these still -find admirers amongst the judicious.</p> - -<p>Mr. Churton Collins, who has written a delightful book about -Bolingbroke, and also about Voltaire in England, has a great notion -of Bolingbroke’s literary merits, and extols them with ardour. He is -not likely to be wrong, but, none the less, it is lawful to surround -yourself with the seven stately quartos which contain Bolingbroke’s -works and letters, and ask yourself whether Mr. Collins is right.</p> - -<p>Of all Lord Bolingbroke’s published<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> writings, none is better than his -celebrated Letter to Wyndham, recounting his adventures in France, -whither he betook himself hastily after Queen Anne’s death, and where -he joined the Pretender. Here he is not philosophizing, but telling a -tale, varnished it may be, but sparkling with malice, wit, and humour. -Well may Mr. Collins say, ‘Walpole never produced a more amusing sketch -than the picture of the Pretender’s Court at Paris and of the Privy -Council in the Bois de Boulogne’; but when he proceeds further and -adds, ‘Burke never produced anything nobler than the passage which -commences with the words “The ocean which environs us is an emblem of -our government,”’ I am glad to ejaculate, ‘Indeed he did!’</p> - -<p>Here is the passage:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span></p> - -<blockquote><p>‘The ocean which environs us is an emblem of our government, -and the pilot and the Minister are in similar circumstances. It -seldom happens that either of them can steer a direct course, and -they both arrive at their ports by means which frequently seem -to carry them from it. But, as the work advances, the conduct of -him who leads it on with real abilities clears up, the appearing -inconsistencies are reconciled, and, when it is once consummated, -the whole shows itself so uniform, so plain, and so natural, that -every dabbler in politics will be apt to think he could have done -the same. But, on the other hand, a man who proposes no such -object, who substitutes artifice in the place of ability, who, -instead of leading parties and governing accidents, is eternally -agitated backwards and forwards, who begins every day something -new and carries nothing on to perfection, may<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> impose a while on -the world, but, a little sooner or later, the mystery will be -revealed, and nothing will be found to be couched under it but -a thread of pitiful expedients, the ultimate end of which never -extended farther than living from day to day.’</p></blockquote> - -<p>A fine passage, most undoubtedly, and an excellent homily for -Ministers. No one but a dabbler in literature will be apt to think he -could have done the same—but noble with the nobility of Burke? A noble -passage ought to do more for a reader than compel his admiration or win -his assent; it should leave him a little better than it found him, with -a warmer heart and a more elevated mind.</p> - -<p>Mr. Collins also refers with delight to a dissertation on Eloquence, -to be found in the ‘Letter on the Spirit of Patriotism,’ and again -expresses a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> doubt whether it would be possible to select anything -finer from the pages of Burke.</p> - -<p>The passage is too long to be quoted; it begins thus:</p> - -<p>‘Eloquence has charms to lead mankind, and gives a nobler superiority -than power that every dunce may use, or fraud that every knave may -employ.’</p> - -<p>And then follows a good deal about Demosthenes and Cicero, and other -talkers of old time.</p> - -<p>This may or may not be a fine passage; but if we allow it to be the -former, we cannot admit that as it flows it fertilizes.</p> - -<p>Bolingbroke and Chesterfield are two of the remarkable figures of -the first half of the last century. They are both commonly called -‘great,’ to distinguish them from other holders of the same titles. -Their accomplishments were as endless as their <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span>opportunities. They -were the most eloquent men of their time, and both possessed that -insight into things, that distinction of mind, we call genius. They -were ready writers, and have left ‘works’ behind them full of wit and -gracious expressions; but neither the one nor the other has succeeded -in lodging himself in the general memory. The ill-luck which drove -them out of politics has pursued them down the path of letters, though -the frequenters of that pleasant track are wisely indifferent to the -characters of dead authors who still give pleasure.</p> - -<p>No shrewder men ever sat upon a throne than the first two Georges, -monarchs of this realm. The second George hated Chesterfield, and -called him ‘a tea-table scoundrel.’ The phrase sticks. There <i>is</i> -something petty about this great Lord Chesterfield. The first George, -though wholly illiterate, yet took it upon himself<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> to despise -Bolingbroke, philosopher though he was, and dismissed an elaborate -effusion of his as ‘<i>bagatelles</i>.’ Here again the phrase sticks, and -not even the beautiful type and lordly margins of Mallet’s edition of -Lord Bolingbroke’s writings, or the stately periods of that nobleman -himself, can drive the royal verdict out of my ears. There is nothing -real about these writings save their colossal impudence, as when, for -example, in his letter on the State of Parties on the accession of -George I., he solemnly denies that there was any design during the four -last years of Queen Anne’s reign to set aside the Hanover succession, -and, in support of his denial, quotes himself as a man who, if there -had been anything of the sort, must have known of it. By the side of -this man the perfidy of Thurlow or of Wedderburn shows white as wool. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span></p> - -<p>By the aid of his own wits and a cunning wife, and assisted by the -growing hatred of corruption, Bolingbroke, towards the close of his -long life, nearly succeeded in securing some measure of oblivion of -his double-dyed treachery. He managed to inflame the ‘Young England’ -of the period with his picture of a ‘Patriot King,’ and if he had only -put into the fire his lucubrations about Christianity he might have -accomplished his exit from a world he had made worse for seventy-five -years with a show of decency. But he did not do so; the ‘cur Mallet’ -was soon ready with his volumes, and then the memory of Bolingbroke was -exposed to the obloquy which in this country is (or was) the heritage -of the heterodox.</p> - -<p>Horace Walpole, who hated Bolingbroke, as he was in special duty bound -to do, felt this keenly.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> He was glad Bolingbroke was gibbeted, but -regretted that he should swing on a wrong count in the indictment.</p> - -<p>Writing to Sir Horace Mann, Walpole says:</p> - -<p>‘You say you have made my Lord Cork give up my Lord Bolingbroke. It is -comical to see how he is given up here since the best of his writings, -his metaphysical divinity, has been published. While he betrayed and -abused every man who trusted him, or who had forgiven him, or to whom -he was obliged, he was a hero, a patriot, a philosopher, and the -greatest genius of the age; the moment his “Craftsmen” against Moses -and St. Paul are published we have discovered he was the worst man and -the worst writer in the world. The grand jury have presented his works, -and as long as there are any parsons he will be ranked with Tindal<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> -and Toland—nay, I don’t know whether my father won’t become a rubric -martyr for having been persecuted by him.’</p> - -<p>My sympathies are with Walpole, although, when he pronounces -Bolingbroke’s metaphysical divinity to be the best of his writings, I -cannot agree.</p> - -<p>Mr. Collins’ book is a most excellent one, and if anyone reads it -because of my recommendation he will owe me thanks. Mr. Collins values -Pope not merely for his poetry, but for his philosophy also, which he -cadged from Bolingbroke. The ‘Essay on Man’ is certainly better reading -than anything Bolingbroke ever wrote—though what may be the value of -its philosophy is a question which may well stand over till after the -next General Election, or even longer.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span></p> - -<h2>STERNE.</h2> - -<p>No less pious a railway director than Sir Edward Watkin once prefaced -an oration to the shareholders of one of his numerous undertakings by -expressing, in broken accents, the wish that ‘He who tempers the wind -to the shorn lamb might deal gently with illustrious personages in -their present grievous affliction.’ The wish was a kind one, and is -only referred to here as an illustration of the amazing skill of the -author of the phrase quoted in so catching the tone, temper, and style -of King James’s version, that the words occur to the feeling mind as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> -naturally as any in Holy Writ as the best expression of a sorrowful -emotion.</p> - -<p>The phrase itself is, indeed, an excellent example of Sterne’s genius -for pathos. No one knew better than he how to drive words home. -George Herbert, in his selection of ‘Outlandish Proverbs,’ to which -he subsequently gave the alternate title ‘Jacula Prudentum,’ has the -following: ‘To a close-shorn sheep God gives Wind by measure’; but -this proverb in that wording would never have succeeded in making the -chairman of a railway company believe he had read it somewhere in the -Bible. It is the same thought, but the words which convey it stop far -short of the heart. A close-shorn sheep will not brook comparison with -Sterne’s ‘shorn lamb’; whilst the tender, compassionate, beneficent -‘God tempers the wind’ makes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> the original ‘God gives wind by measure’ -wear the harsh aspect of a wholly unnecessary infliction.</p> - -<p>Sterne is our best example of the plagiarist whom none dare make -ashamed. He robbed other men’s orchards with both hands; and yet no -more original writer than he ever went to press in these isles.</p> - -<p>He has been dogged, of course; but, as was befitting in his case, -it has been done pleasantly. Sterne’s detective was the excellent -Dr. Ferriar, of Manchester, whose ‘Illustrations of Sterne,’ first -published in 1798, were written at an earlier date for the edification -of the Manchester Literary and Philosophical Society. Those were -pleasant days, when men of reading were content to give their best -thoughts first to their friends and then—ten years afterwards—to the -public. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span></p> - -<p>Dr. Ferriar’s book is worthy of its subject. The motto on the -title-page is delightfully chosen. It is taken from the opening -paragraph of Lord Shaftesbury’s ‘Miscellaneous Reflections’: ‘Peace -be with the soul of that charitable and Courteous Author who for the -common benefit of his fellow-Authors introduced the ingenious way of -<span class="smcap">Miscellaneous Writing</span>.’ Here Dr. Ferriar stopped; but I will -add the next sentence: ‘It must be owned that since this happy method -was established the Harvest of Wit has been more plentiful and the -Labourers more in number than heretofore.’ Wisely, indeed, did Charles -Lamb declare Shaftesbury was not too genteel for him. No pleasanter -penance for random thinking can be devised than spending an afternoon -turning over Shaftesbury’s three volumes and trying to discover how -near he ever did come to saying<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> that ‘Ridicule was the test of truth.’</p> - -<p>Dr. Ferriar’s happy motto puts the reader in a sweet temper to start -with, for he sees at once that the author is no pedantic, soured churl, -but a good fellow who is going to make a little sport with a celebrated -wit, and show you how a genius fills his larder.</p> - -<p>The first thing that strikes you in reading Dr. Ferriar’s book is the -marvellous skill with which Sterne has created his own atmosphere and -characters, in spite of the fact that some of the most characteristic -remarks of his characters are, in the language of the Old Bailey, -‘stolen goods.’ ‘“There is no cause but one,” replied my Uncle Toby, -“why one man’s nose is longer than another’s, but because God pleases -to have it so.” “That is Grangousier’s solution,” said my father.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> -“’Tis he,” continued my Uncle Toby, looking up and not regarding -my father’s interruption, “who makes us all, and frames and puts -us together in such forms and proportions and for such ends as is -agreeable to His infinite wisdom.”’</p> - -<p>‘“Out of the fulness of the heart the mouth speaketh”; and if those are -not the words of my Uncle Toby, it is idle to believe in anything’: -and yet we read in Rabelais—as, indeed, Sterne suggests to us we -should—‘“Pourquoi,” dit Gargantua, “est-ce que frère Jean a si beau -nez?” “Parce,” répondit Grangousier, “qu’ainsi Dieu l’a voulu, lequel -nous fait en telle forme et à telle fin selon son divin arbitre, que -fait un potier ses vaisseaux.”’</p> - -<p>To create a character and to be able to put in his mouth borrowed words -which yet shall quiver with his personality is the supreme<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> triumph of -the greatest ‘miscellaneous writer’ who ever lived.</p> - -<p>Dr. Ferriar’s book, after all, but establishes this: that the only -author whom Sterne really pillaged is Burton, of the ‘Anatomy of -Melancholy,’ a now well-known writer, but who in Sterne’s time, despite -Dr. Johnson’s partiality, appears to have been neglected. Sir Walter -Scott, an excellent authority on such a point, says, in his ‘Life of -Sterne,’ that Dr. Ferriar’s essay raised the ‘“Anatomy of Melancholy” -to double price in the book market.’</p> - -<p>Sir Walter is unusually hard upon Sterne in this matter of the -‘Anatomy.’ But different men, different methods. Sir Walter had his own -way of cribbing. Sterne’s humorous conception of the character of the -elder Shandy required copious illustration from learned sources, and a -whole host of examples<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> and whimsicalities, which it would have passed -the wit of man to invent for himself. He found these things to his -hand in Burton, and, like our first parent, ‘he scrupled not to eat.’ -It is not easy to exaggerate the extent of his plunder. The well-known -chapter with its refrain, ‘The Lady Baussiere rode on,’ and the chapter -on the death of Brother Bobby, are almost, though not altogether, pure -Burton.</p> - -<p>The general effect of it all is to raise your opinion immensely—of -Burton. As for your opinion of Sterne as a man of conduct, is it -worth while having one? It is a poor business bludgeoning men who -bore the brunt of life a long century ago, and whose sole concern now -with the world is to delight it. Laurence Sterne is not standing for -Parliament. ‘Eliza’ has been dead a dozen decades. Nobody covers<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> his -sins under the cloak of this particular parson. Our sole business is -with ‘Tristram Shandy’ and ‘The Sentimental Journey’; and if these -books are not matters for congratulation and joy, then the pleasures -of literature are all fudge, and the whole thing a got-up job of ‘The -Trade’ and the hungry crew who go buzzing about it.</p> - -<p>Mr. Traill concludes his pleasant ‘Life of Sterne’ in a gloomy vein, -which I cannot for the life of me understand. He says: ‘The fate of -Richardson might seem to be close behind him’ (Sterne). Even the fate -of ‘Clarissa’ is no hard one. She still numbers good intellects, and -bears her century lightly. Diderot, as Mr. Traill reminds us, praised -her outrageously—but Mr. Ruskin is not far behind; and from Diderot -to Ruskin is a good ‘drive.’ But ‘Tristram’ is a very<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> different thing -from ‘Clarissa.’ I should have said, without hesitation, that it was -one of the most popular books in the language. Go where you will -amongst men—old and young, undergraduates at the Universities, readers -in our great cities, old fellows in the country, judges, doctors, -barristers—if they have any tincture of literature about them, they -all know their ‘Shandy’ at least as well as their ‘Pickwick.’ What more -can be expected? ‘True Shandeism,’ its author declares, ‘think what you -will against it, opens the heart and lungs.’ I will be bound to say -Sterne made more people laugh in 1893 than in any previous year; and, -what is more, he will go on doing it—‘“that is, if it please God,” -said my Uncle Toby.’</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span></p> - -<h2>DR. JOHNSON.</h2> - -<p>Dr. Johnson’s massive shade cannot complain of this generation. We are -not all of us—or, indeed, many of us—much after his mind, but, for -all that, we worship his memory. Editions of Boswell, old or new, are -on every shelf; but more than this, there is a healthy and commendable -disposition to recognise that great, surpassingly great, as are the -merits of Boswell, still there is such a thing as a detached and -separate Johnson.</p> - -<p>It is a good thing every now and again to get rid of Boswell. It is a -little ungrateful, but we have Johnson’s authority for the statement -that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> we hate our benefactors. After all, even had there been no -Boswell, there would have been a Johnson. I will always stick to it -that Hawkins’s Life is a most readable book. Dr. Birkbeck Hill stands -a good chance of being hated some day. We owed him a debt of gratitude -already. He has lately added to it by publishing at the Clarendon -Press, in two stately volumes, uniform with his great edition of the -Life, the ‘Letters of Samuel Johnson, LL.D.’</p> - -<p>For a lazy man who loathed writing Dr. Johnson did not do badly—his -letters to Mrs. Thrale exceed three hundred. It is not known that he -ever wrote a letter to Burke. I cannot quite jump with the humour of -Dr. Hill’s comment on this fact. He observes: ‘So far as we know, he -did not write a single letter to Edward Burke—he wrote more than three -hundred to the wife of a <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span>Southwark brewer.’ What has the beer got to -do with it? and why drag in Southwark? Every man knows, without being -told, why Johnson wrote three hundred letters to Mrs. Thrale; and as -for his not writing to Burke, it is notorious that the Doctor never -could be got to write to anybody for information.</p> - -<p>Dr. Hill’s two volumes are as delightful books as ever issued from -the press. In them Dr. Johnson is to be seen in every aspect of his -character, whilst a complete study may be made from them of the -enormous versatility of his style. It is hard to say what one admires -most—the ardour of his affection, the piety of his nature, the -friendliness of his disposition, the playfulness of his humour, or his -love of learning and of letters.</p> - -<p>What strikes one perhaps most, if you assume a merely critical -attitude,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> is the glorious ease and aptitude of his quotations from -ancient and modern writings. Of pedantry there is not a trace. Nothing -is forced or dragged in. It is all, apparently, simply inevitable. You -do not exclaim as you read, ‘What a memory the fellow has!’ but merely, -‘How charming it all is!’</p> - -<p>It is not difficult to construct from these two volumes alone the -gospel—the familiar, the noble gospel according to Dr. Johnson. It -reads somewhat as follows:</p> - -<blockquote><p>‘Your father begot you and your mother bore you. Honour them -both. Husbands, be faithful to your wives. Wives, forgive your -husbands’ unfaithfulness—once. No grown man who is dependent on -the will, that is the whim, of another can be happy, and life -without enjoyment is intolerable gloom. Therefore, as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> money means -independence and enjoyment, get money, and having got it keep it. -A spendthrift is a fool.</p> - -<p>‘Clear your mind of cant and never debauch your understanding. The -only liberty worth turning out into the street for, is the liberty -to do what you like in your own house and to say what you like in -your own inn. All work is bondage.</p> - -<p>‘Never get excited about causes you do not understand, or about -people you have never seen. Keep Corsica out of your head.</p> - -<p>‘Life is a struggle with either poverty or ennui; but it is better -to be rich than to be poor. Death is a terrible thing to face. The -man who says he is not afraid of it lies. Yet, as murderers have -met it bravely on the scaffold, when the time comes so perhaps may -I. In the meantime I am horribly afraid. The future is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> dark. I -should like more evidence of the immortality of the soul.</p> - -<p>‘There is great solace in talk. We—you and I—are shipwrecked on -a wave-swept rock. At any moment one or other of us, perhaps both, -may be carried out to sea and lost. For the time being we have a -modicum of light and warmth, of meat and drink. Let us constitute -ourselves a club, stretch out our legs and talk. We have minds, -memories, varied experiences, different opinions. Sir, let us -talk, not as men who mock at fate, not with coarse speech or foul -tongue, but with a manly mixture of the gloom that admits the -inevitable, and the merriment that observes the incongruous. Thus -talking we shall learn to love one another, not sentimentally but -fundamentally.</p> - -<p>‘Cultivate your mind, if you happen to have one. Care greatly for -books<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> and literature. Venerate <b>poor</b> scholars, but don’t -shout for “Wilkes and Liberty!” The one is a whoremonger, the -other a flatulency.</p> - -<p>‘If any tyrant prevents your goings out and your comings in, fill -your pockets with large stones and kill him as he passes. Then go -home and think no more about it. Never theorize about Revolution. -Finally, pay your score at your club and your final debt to Nature -generously and without casting the account too narrowly. Don’t be -a prig like Sir John Hawkins, or your own enemy like Bozzy, or a -Whig like Burke, or a vile wretch like Rousseau, or pretend to be -an atheist like Hume, but be a good fellow, and don’t insist upon -being remembered more than a month after you are dead.’</p></blockquote> - -<p>This is but the First Lesson. To compose the Second would be a more<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> -difficult task and must not be here attempted. These two volumes of Dr. -Hill are endless in their variety. Johnson was gloomy enough, and many -of his letters may well move you to tears, but his was ever a human -gloom. The year before his death he writes to Mrs. Thrale:</p> - -<p>‘The black dog I hope always to resist and in time to drive, though I -am deprived of almost all those that used to help me. The neighbourhood -is impoverished. I had once Richardson and Lawrence in my reach. Mrs. -Allen is dead. My house has lost Levet, a man who took interest in -everything and therefore ready at conversation. Mrs. Williams is so -weak that she can be a companion no longer. When I rise my breakfast is -solitary—the black dog waits to share it; from breakfast to dinner he -continues barking, except that Dr. Brocklesby for a little<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> keeps him -at a distance. Dinner with a sick woman you may venture to suppose not -much better than solitary. After dinner, what remains but to count the -clock and hope for that sleep which I can scarce expect? Night comes at -last, and some hours of restlessness and confusion bring me again to a -day of solitude. What shall exclude the black dog from an habitation -like this? If I were a little richer I would perhaps take some cheerful -female into the house.’</p> - -<p>It is a melancholy picture, but the ‘cheerful female’ shoots a ray of -light across the gloom. Everyone should add these two volumes to his -library, and if he has not a library, let him begin making one with them.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span></p> - -<h2>RICHARD CUMBERLAND.</h2> - -<p>‘He has written comedies at which we have cried and tragedies at which -we have laughed; he has composed indecent novels and religious epics; -he has pandered to the public lust for personal anecdote by writing his -own life and the private history of his acquaintances.’ Of whom is this -a portrait, and who is the limner? What are the names of the comedies -and the tragedies and the novels thus highly recommended to the curious -reader? These are questions, I flatter myself, wholly devoid of public -interest.</p> - -<p>The quotation is from a review in the <i>Quarterly</i>, written by -Sir Walter Scott, of old Richard Cumberland’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> last novel, ‘John -de Lancaster,’ published in 1809, when its author, ‘the Terence -of England,’ was well-nigh eighty years of age. The passage is a -fierce one, but Scott’s good-nature was proof against everything but -affectation. No man minded a bad novel less than the author of ‘Guy -Mannering’ and ‘The Heart of Midlothian.’ I am certain he could have -pulled Bishop Thirlwall through ‘The Wide, Wide World,’ in the middle -of which, for some unaccountable reason, that great novel-reading -prelate stuck fast. But an author had only to pooh-pooh the public -taste, to sneer at popularity, to discourse solemnly on his function as -a teacher of his age and master of his craft, to make Sir Walter show -his teeth, and his fangs were formidable; and the storm of his wrath -all the more tremendous because bursting from a clear sky. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span></p> - -<p>I will quote a few words from the passage in ‘John de Lancaster’ which -made Scott so angry, and which he pronounced a doleful lamentation over -the ‘praise and pudding which Cumberland alleges have been gobbled up -by his contemporaries’:</p> - -<blockquote><p>‘If in the course of my literary labours I had been less studious -to adhere to nature and simplicity, I am perfectly convinced -I should have stood higher in estimation with the purchasers -of copyright, and probably have been read and patronized by my -contemporaries in the proportion of ten to one.’</p></blockquote> - -<p>It seems a harmless kind of bleat after all, but it was enough to sting -Scott to fury, and make him fall upon the old man in a manner somewhat -too savage and tartarly. Some years later, and after Cumberland was -dead, Sir Walter wrote a sketch of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> his life in the vein we are better -accustomed to associate with the name of Scott.</p> - -<p>Cumberland was a voluminous author, having written two epics, -thirty-eight dramatic pieces, including a revised version of ‘Timon -of Athens’—of which Horace Walpole said, ‘he has caught the manners -and diction of the original so exactly that I think it is full as bad -a play as it was before he corrected it’—a score or two of fugitive -poetical compositions, including some verses to Dr. James, whose -powders played almost as large a part in the lives of men of that time -as Garrick himself, numerous prose publications and three novels, -‘Arundel,’ ‘Henry,’ and ‘John de Lancaster.’ Of the novels, ‘Henry’ -is the one to which Sir Walter’s epitaph is least inapplicable—but -Cumberland meant no harm. Were I to be discovered on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> Primrose Hill, or -any other eminence, reading ‘Henry,’ I should blush no deeper than if -the book had been ‘David Grieve.’</p> - -<p>Cumberland has, of course, no place in men’s memories by virtue of -his plays, poems, or novels. Even the catholic Chambers gives no -extracts from Cumberland in the ‘Encyclopedia.’ What keeps him for ever -alive is—first, his place in Goldsmith’s great poem, ‘Retaliation’; -secondly, his memoirs, to which Sir Walter refers so unkindly; and -thirdly, the tradition—the well-supported tradition—that he was the -original ‘Sir Fretful Plagiary.’</p> - -<p>On this last point we have the authority of Croker, and there is none -better for anything disagreeable. Croker says he knew Cumberland well -for the last dozen years of his life, and that to his last day he -resembled ‘Sir Fretful.’ </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span></p> - -<p>The Memoirs were first published in 1806, in a splendidly printed -quarto. The author wanted money badly, and Lackington’s house gave him -£500 for his manuscript. It is an excellent book. I do not quarrel with -Mr. Leslie Stephen’s description of it in the ‘National Dictionary -of Biography’: ‘A very loose book, dateless, inaccurate, but with -interesting accounts of men of note.’ All I mean by excellent is -excellent to read. The Memoirs touch upon many points of interest. -Cumberland was born in the Master’s Lodge, at Trinity, Cambridge, in -the Judge’s Chamber—a room hung round with portraits of ‘hanging -judges’ in their official robes,and where a great Anglican divine and -preacher told me he had once passed a sleepless night, so scared was -he by these sinful emblems of human justice. There is an admirable -account in <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span>Cumberland’s Memoirs of his maternal grandfather, the -famous Richard Bentley, and of the Vice-Master, Dr. Walker, fit to -be read along with De Quincey’s spirited essay on the same subject. -Then the scene is shifted to Dublin Castle, where Cumberland was -Ulster-Secretary when Halifax was Lord-Lieutenant, and Single-speech -Hamilton had acquired by purchase (for a brief season) the brains of -Edmund Burke. There is a wonderful sketch of Bubb Dodington and his -villa ‘La Trappe,’ on the banks of the Thames, whither one fair evening -Wedderburn brought Mrs. Haughton in a hackney-coach. You read of Dr. -Johnson and Dr. Goldsmith, of Garrick and Foote, and participate in the -bustle and malice of the play-house. Unluckily, Cumberland was sent to -Spain on a mission, and came home with a grievance. This part is dull, -but in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> all other respects the Memoirs are good to read.</p> - -<p>Cumberland’s father, who became an Irish bishop, is depicted by his son -as a most pleasing character; and no doubt of his having been so would -ever have entered a head always disposed to think well of fathers had -not my copy of the Memoirs been annotated throughout in the nervous, -scholarly hand of a long-previous owner who, for some reason or -another, hated the Cumberlands, the Whig clergy, and the Irish people -with a hatred which found ample room and verge enough in the spacious -margins of the Memoirs.</p> - -<p>I print one only of these splenetic notes:</p> - -<blockquote><p>‘I forget whether I have noticed this elsewhere, therefore I -will make sure. In the novel “Arundel,” <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span>Cumberland has drawn an -exact picture of himself as secretary to Halifax, and has made -the father of the hero a clergyman and a keen electioneerer—the -vilest character in fiction. The laborious exculpation of Parson -Cumberland in these Memoirs does not wipe out the scandal of such -a picture. In spite of all he says, we cannot help suspecting that -Parson Cumberland and Joseph Arundel had a likeness. N.B.—In -both novels (<i>i.e.</i>, “Arundel” and “Henry”) the portrait of a -modern clergyman is too true. But it is strange that Cumberland, -thus hankering after the Church, should have volunteered two such -characters as Joseph Arundel and Claypole.’</p></blockquote> - -<p>‘Whispering tongues can poison truth,’ and a persistent annotator who -writes a legible hand is not easily shaken off. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span></p> - -<p>Perhaps the best story in the book is the one about which there is most -doubt. I refer to the well-known and often-quoted account of the first -night of ‘She Stoops to Conquer,’ and of the famous band of <i>claqueurs</i> -who early took their places, determined to see the play through. -Cumberland tells the story with the irresistible verve of falsehood—of -the early dinner at the ‘Shakespeare Tavern,’ ‘where Samuel Johnson -took the chair at the head of a long table, and was the life and soul -of the corps’; of the guests assembled, including Fitzherbert (who -had committed suicide at an earlier date), of the adjournment to the -theatre with Adam Drummond of amiable memory, who ‘was gifted by Nature -with the most sonorous and at the same time the most contagious laugh -that ever echoed from the human lungs. The neighing of the horse of the -son of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> Hystaspes was a whisper to it; the whole thunder of the theatre -could not drown it’; and on the story rolls.</p> - -<p>It has to be given up. There was a dinner, but it is doubtful whether -Cumberland was at it; and as for the proceedings at the theatre, others -who were there have pronounced Cumberland’s story a bit of <i>blague</i>. -According to the newspapers of the day, Cumberland, instead of sitting -by Drummond’s side and telling him when to laugh in his peculiar -manner, was visibly chagrined by the success of the piece, and as -wretched as any man could well be. But Adam Drummond must have been a -reality. His laugh still echoes in one’s ears.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span></p> - -<h2>ALEXANDER KNOX AND THOMAS DE QUINCEY.</h2> - -<p>Amongst the many <i>bizarre</i> things that attended the events which led -up to the Act of Union between Great Britain and Ireland, was the -circumstance that Lord Castlereagh’s private secretary during the -period should have been that Mr. Alexander Knox whose Remains in four -rather doleful volumes were once cherished by a certain school of -theologians.</p> - -<p>Mr. Knox was a man of great piety, some learning, and of the utmost -simplicity of life and manners. He<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> was one of the first of our moderns -to be enamoured of primitive Christian times, and to seek to avoid the -claims of Rome upon the allegiance of all Catholic-minded souls by -hooking himself on to a period prior to the full development of those -claims.</p> - -<p>It is no doubt true that, for a long time past, Nonconformists of -different kinds have boldly asserted that they were primitive; but it -must be owned that they have never taken the least pains to ascertain -the actual facts of the case. Now, Mr. Knox took great pains to be -primitive. Whether he succeeded it is not for me to say, but at all -events he went so far on his way to success as to leave off being -modern both in his ways of thought and in his judgments of men and -books.</p> - -<p>English Nonconformity has <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span>produced many hundreds of volumes of -biography and Remains, but there is never a primitive one amongst them. -To anyone who may wish to know what it is to be primitive, there is -but one answer: Read the Remains of Alexander Knox. Be careful to get -the right Knox. There was one Vicesimus, who is much better known than -Alexander, and at least as readable, but (and this is the whole point) -not at all primitive.</p> - -<p>And it was this primitive, apostolic Mr. Knox who is held by some to -be the real parent of the Tractarian movement, whose correspondence is -almost entirely religious, and whose whole character stands revealed -in his Remains as that of a man without guile, and as obstinate as a -mule, who was chosen at a most critical moment of political history to -share the guilty secrets of Mr. Pitt and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> Lord Castlereagh. It seems -preposterous.</p> - -<p>The one and only thing in Knox’s Remains of the least interest to -people who are not primitive, is a letter addressed to him by Lord -Castlereagh, written after the completion of the Union, and suggesting -to him the propriety of his undertaking the task of writing the history -of that event—the reason being his thorough knowledge of all the -circumstances of the case.</p> - -<p>Such a letter bids us pause.</p> - -<p>By this time we know well enough how the Act of Union was carried. By -bribery and corruption. Nobody has ever denied it for the last fifty -years. It has been in the school text-books for generations. But the -point is, Did Mr. Knox know? If he did, it must seem to all who have -read his Remains—and it is worth<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> while reading them only to enjoy the -sensation—a most marvellous thing. It would not be more marvellous had -we learnt from Canon Liddon’s long-looked-for volumes that Mr. Pusey -was Mr. Disraeli’s adviser in all matters relating to the disposition -of the secret service money and the Tory election funds. If Knox did -not know anything about it, how was he kept in ignorance, how was he -sheltered from the greedy Irish peers and borough-mongers and all the -other impecunious rascals who had the vending of a nation? And what are -we to think of the foresight of Castlereagh, who secured for himself -such a secretary in order that, after all was over, Mr. Knox might sit -down and in all innocence become the historian of proceedings of which -he had been allowed to know nothing, but which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> sorely needed the cloak -of a holy life and conversation to cover up their sores?</p> - -<p>It is an odd problem. For my part, I believe in Knox’s innocence. -Trying very hard to be worthy of the second century was not good -training for seeing his way through the fag-end of the eighteenth. -Apart from this, it is amazing what some men will not see. I recall but -will not quote the brisk retort of Mrs. Saddletree at her husband’s -expense, which relates to the incapacity of that learned saddler to see -what was going on under his nose. The test was a severe one, but we -have no doubt whatever that Alexander Knox could have stood it as well -as Mr. Bartoline Saddletree.</p> - -<p>Another strange incident connected with the same event is that the -final ratification of the Act of Union in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> Dublin was witnessed by, -and made, as it could not fail to do, a great impression upon, the -most accomplished rhetorical writer of our time. De Quincey, then a -precocious boy of fifteen, happened by a lucky chance to be in Ireland -at the time, and as the guest of Lord Altamount, an Irish peer, he had -every opportunity both of seeing the sight and acquainting himself -with the feelings of some of the leading actors in the play, call it -tragedy, comedy, or farce, as you please.</p> - -<p>De Quincey’s account of the scene, and his two chapters on the Irish -Rebellion, are to be found in the first volume of his ‘Autobiographic -Sketches.’</p> - -<p>De Quincey hints that both Lord Altamount and his son, ‘who had an -Irish heart,’ would have been glad if at the very last moment the -populace<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> had stepped in between Mr. Pitt and the Irish peers and -commoners and compelled the two Houses to perpetuate themselves. -Internally, says De Quincey, they would have laughed. But it was -written otherwise in Heaven’s Chancery, and ‘the Bill received the -Royal assent without a muttering or a whispering or the protesting echo -of a sigh.... One person only I remarked whose features were suddenly -illuminated by a smile—a sarcastic smile, as I read it—which, -however, might be all fancy. It was Lord Castlereagh.’ Can it possibly -be that this was the very moment when it occurred to his lordship’s -mind that Mr. Knox was the man to be the historian of the event thus -concluded?</p> - -<p>The new edition of De Quincey’s writings has naturally provoked many -critics to attempt to do for him what<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> he was fond enough of doing for -others, often to their dismay—to give some account, that is, of the -author and the man. De Quincey does not lend himself to this familiar -treatment. He eludes analysis and baffles description. His great fault -as an author is best described, in the decayed language of the equity -draughtsman, as multifariousness. His style lacks the charm of economy, -and his workmanship the dignity of concentration.</p> - -<p>A literary spendthrift is, however, a very endurable sinner in these -stingy days. Mr. Mill speaks somewhere (I think in his ‘Political -Economy’) almost sorrowfully of De Quincey’s strange habit of -scattering fine thoughts up and down his merely miscellaneous writings. -The habit has ceased to afflict the reader. The fine maxim ‘Waste -not, want not,’ is now <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span>inscribed over the desks of our miscellaneous -writers. Such extravagance as De Quincey’s, as it is not likely to be -repeated, need not be too severely reprobated.</p> - -<p>De Quincey’s magnificence, the apparent boundlessness of his -information, the liberties he takes, relying upon his mastery of -language, his sportiveness and freakish fancies, make him the idol of -all hobbledehoys of a literary turn. By them his sixteen volumes are -greedily devoured. Happy the country, one is tempted to exclaim, that -has such reading to offer its young men and maidens!</p> - -<p>The discovery that De Quincey wrote something else besides the ‘Opium -Eater’ marks a red-letter day in many a young life. The papers on -‘The Twelve Cæsars’; on the ‘Essenes and Secret Societies’; on ‘Judas -Iscariot,’ ‘Cicero,’ and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> ‘Richard Bentley’; ‘The Spanish Nun,’ the -‘Female Infidel,’ the ‘Tartars,’ seemed the very climax of literary -well-doing, and to unite the learning of the schools with all the fancy -of the poets and the wit of the world.</p> - -<p>As one grows older, one grows sterner—with others.</p> - -<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div>‘Prune thou thy words, the thoughts control</div> -<div class="i1">That o’er thee swell and throng;</div> -<div>They will condense within thy soul,</div> -<div class="i1">And change to purpose strong.’</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>The lines have a literary as well as a moral value.</p> - -<p>But though paradox may cease to charm, and a tutored intellect seem to -sober age a better guide than a lawless fancy, and a chastened style a -more comfortable thing than impassioned prose and pages of <i>bravura</i>, -still, after all, ‘the days of our youth are the days of our glory,’ -and for a reader who is both young and eager<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> the Selections Grave and -Gay of Thomas de Quincey will always be above criticism, and belong to -the realm of rapture.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span></p> - -<h2>HANNAH MORE.</h2> - -<p>An ingenious friend of mine, who has collected a library in which every -book is either a masterpiece of wit or a miracle of rarity, found great -fault with me the other day for adding to my motley heap the writings -of Mrs. Hannah More. In vain I pleaded I had given but eight shillings -and sixpence for the nineteen volumes, neatly bound and lettered on -the back. He was not thinking, so he protested, of my purse, but of my -taste, and he went away, spurning the gravel under his feet, irritated -that there should be such men as I.</p> - -<p>I, however, am prepared to brazen<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> it out. I freely admit that the -celebrated Mrs. Hannah More is one of the most detestable writers that -ever held a pen. She flounders like a huge conger-eel in an ocean of -dingy morality. She may have been a wit in her youth, though I am -not aware of any evidence of it—certainly her poem, ‘Bas Bleu,’ is -none—but for all the rest of her days, and they were many, she was -an encyclopædia of all literary vices. You may search her nineteen -volumes through without lighting upon one original thought, one happy -phrase. Her religion lacks reality. Not a single expression of genuine -piety, of heart-felt emotion, ever escapes her lips. She is never -pathetic, never terrible. Her creed is powerless either to attract the -well-disposed or make the guilty tremble. No naughty child ever read -‘The Fairchild Family’ or ‘Stories from the Church <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span>Catechism’ without -quaking and quivering like a short-haired puppy after a ducking; but, -then, Mrs. Sherwood was a woman of genius, whilst Mrs. Hannah More was -a pompous failure.</p> - -<p>Still, she has a merit of her own, just enough to enable a middle-aged -man to chew the cud of reflection as he hastily turns her endless -pages. She is an explanatory author, helping you to understand how -sundry people who were old when you were young came to be the folk they -were, and to have the books upon their shelves they had.</p> - -<p>Hannah More was the first, and I trust the worst, of a large -class—‘the ugliest of her daughters Hannah,’ if I may parody a poet -she affected to admire. This class may be imperfectly described as -‘the well-to-do Christian.’ It inhabited snug places in the country, -and kept an excellent, if not dainty, table.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> The money it saved in -a ball-room it spent upon a greenhouse. Its horses were fat, and -its coachman invariably present at family prayers. Its pet virtue -was Church twice on Sunday, and its peculiar horrors theatrical -entertainments, dancing, and threepenny points. Outside its garden -wall lived the poor who, if virtuous, were for ever curtsying to the -ground or wearing neat uniforms, except when expiring upon truckle-beds -beseeching God to bless the young ladies of The Grange or the Manor -House, as the case might be.</p> - -<p>As a book ‘Cœlebs in Search of a Wife’ is as odious as it is -absurd—yet for the reason already assigned it may be read with a -certain curiosity—but as it would be cruelty to attempt to make good -my point by quotation, I must leave it as it is.</p> - -<p>It is characteristic of the unreality of Hannah More that she prefers<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> -Akenside to Cowper, despite the latter’s superior piety. Cowper’s -sincerity and pungent satire frightened her; the verbosity of Akenside -was much to her mind:</p> - -<p>‘Sir John is a passionate lover of poetry, in which he has a -fine taste. He read it [a passage from Akenside’s “Pleasures of -Imagination”] with much spirit and feeling, especially these truly -classical lines:</p> - -<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div>‘“<i>Mind—mind</i> alone; bear witness, earth and heaven,</div> -<div>The living fountains in itself contains</div> -<div>Of Beauteous and Sublime; here hand in hand</div> -<div>Sit paramount the graces; here enthroned</div> -<div>Celestial Venus, with divinest airs,</div> -<div>Invites the soul to never-fading joy.”</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>‘“The reputation of this exquisite passage,” said he, laying down the -book, “is established by the consenting suffrage of all men of taste, -though, by the critical countenance you are beginning to put on you -look as if you had a mind to attack it.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span></p> - -<p>‘“So far from it,” said I [Cœlebs], “<i>that I know nothing more splendid -in the whole mass of our poetry</i>.”’</p> - -<p>Miss More had an odd life before she underwent what she calls a -‘revolution in her sentiments,’ a revolution, however, which I fear -left her heart of hearts unchanged. She consorted with wits, though -always, be it fairly admitted, on terms of decorum. She wrote three -tragedies, which were not rejected as they deserved to be, but duly -appeared on the boards of London and Bath with prologues and epilogues -by Garrick and by Sheridan. She dined and supped and made merry. She -had a prodigious flirtation with Dr. Johnson, who called her a saucy -girl, albeit she was thirty-seven; and once, for there was no end to -his waggery, lamented she had not married Chatterton, ‘that posterity -might have seen a propagation of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> poets.’ The good doctor, however, -sickened of her flattery, and one of the rudest speeches even he ever -made was addressed to her.</p> - -<p>After Johnson’s death Hannah met Boswell, full of his intended book -which she did her best to spoil with her oily fatuity. Said she to -Boswell, ‘I beseech your tenderness for our virtuous and most revered -departed friend; I beg you will mitigate some of his asperities,’ to -which diabolical counsel the Inimitable replied roughly, ‘He would not -cut off his claws nor make a tiger a cat to please anybody.’</p> - -<p>The most moving incident in Hannah More’s life occurred near its close, -and when she was a lone, lorn woman—her sisters Mary, Betty, Sally, -and Patty having all predeceased her. She and they had long lived in -a nice house or ‘place’ called Barley Wood, in the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span>neighbourhood of -Bristol, and here her sisters one after another died, leaving poor -Hannah in solitary grandeur to the tender mercies of Mrs. Susan, the -housekeeper; Miss Teddy, the lady’s-maid; Mrs. Rebecca, the housemaid; -Mrs. Jane, the cook; Miss Sally, the scullion; Mr. Timothy, the -coachman; Mr. John, the gardener; and Mr. Tom, the gardener’s man. -Eight servants and one aged pilgrim—of such was the household of -Barley Wood!</p> - -<p>Outwardly decorum reigned. Poor Miss More fondly imagined her domestics -doted on her, and that they joyfully obeyed her laws. It was the -practice at family prayer for each of the servants to repeat a text. -Visitors were much impressed, and went away delighted. But like so many -other things on this round world, it was all hollow. These menials were -not what they seemed. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span></p> - -<p>After Miss More had heard them say their texts and had gone to bed, -their day began. They gave parties to the servants and tradespeople -of the vicinity (pleasing word), and at last, in mere superfluity of -naughtiness, hired a large room a mile off and issued invitations to -a great ball. This undid them. There happened to be at Barley Wood on -the very night of the dance a vigilant visitor who had her suspicions, -and who accordingly kept watch and ward. She heard the texts, but she -did not go to bed, and from her window she saw the whole household, -under cover of night, steal off to their promiscuous friskings, leaving -behind them poor Miss Sally only, whose sad duty it was to let them in -the next morning, which she duly performed.</p> - -<p>Friends were called in, and grave consultations held, and in the end<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> -Miss More was told how she had been wounded in her own household. It -was sore news; she bore it well, wisely determined to quit Barley Wood -once and for ever, and live, as a decent old lady should, in a terrace -in Clifton. The wicked servants were not told of this resolve until -the actual moment of departure had arrived, when they were summoned -into the drawing-room, where they found their mistress, and a company -of friends. In feeling tones Miss Hannah More upbraided them for their -unfaithfulness. ‘You have driven me,’ said she, ‘from my own home, and -forced me to seek a refuge among strangers.’ So saying, she stepped -into her carriage and was driven away. There is surely something -Miltonic about this scene, which is, at all events, better than -anything in Akenside’s ‘Pleasures of Imagination.’ </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span></p> - -<p>The old lady was of course much happier at No. 4, Windsor Terrace, -Clifton, than she had been at Barley Wood. She was eighty-three years -of age when she took up house there, and eighty-nine when she died, -which she did on the 1st of September, 1833. I am indebted for these -melancholy—and, I believe, veracious—particulars to that amusing book -of Joseph Cottle’s called ‘Early Recollections, chiefly relating to the -late Samuel Taylor Coleridge during his long residence in Bristol.’</p> - -<p>I still maintain that Hannah More’s works in nineteen volumes are worth -eight shillings and sixpence.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span></p> - -<h2>MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF.</h2> - -<p>Miss Mathilde Blind, in the introduction to her animated and admirable -translation of the now notorious ‘Journal of Marie Bashkirtseff,’ asks -an exceedingly relevant question—namely, ‘Is it well or is it ill done -to make the world our father confessor?’ Miss Blind does not answer her -own question, but passes on her way content with the observation that, -be it well or ill done, it is supremely interesting. Translators have, -indeed, no occasion to worry about such inquiries. It is hard enough -for them to make their author speak another language than his own, -without stopping to ask<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> whether he ought to have spoken at all. Their -business is to make their author known. As for the author himself, he, -of course, has a responsibility; but, as a rule, he is only thinking -of himself, and only anxious to excite interest in that subject. If he -succeeds in doing this, he is indifferent to everything else. And in -this he is encouraged by the world.</p> - -<p>Burns, in his exuberant generosity, was sure that it could afford small -pleasure</p> - -<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div class="i4">‘Even to a deil</div> -<div>To skelp and scaud poor dogs like me,</div> -<div class="i4">And hear us squeal;’</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>but whatever may be the devil’s taste, there is nothing the reading -public like better than to hear the squeal of some self-torturing atom -of humanity. And, as the atoms have found this out, a good deal of -squealing may be confidently anticipated.</p> - -<p>The eclipse of faith has not proved<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> fatal by any means to the -instinct of confession. There is a noticeable desire to make humanity -or the reading public our residuary legatee, to endow it with our -experiences, to enrich it with our egotisms, to strip ourselves bare -in the market-place—if not for the edification, at all events for the -amusement, of man. All this is accomplished by autobiography. We then -become interesting, probably for the first time, as, to employ Mlle. -Bashkirtseff’s language, ‘documents of human nature.’</p> - -<p>The metaphor carries us far. To falsify documents by addition, -or to garble them by omission, is an offence of grave character, -though of frequent occurrence. Is there, then, to be no reticence in -autobiography? Are the documents of human nature to be printed at -length?</p> - -<p>These are questions which each autobiographer must settle for <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span>himself. -If what is published is interesting for any reason whatsoever, be it -the work of pious sincerity or diseased self-consciousness, the world -will read it, and either applaud the piety or ridicule the absurdity of -the author. If it is not interesting it will not be read.</p> - -<p>Therefore, to consider the ethics of autobiography is to condemn -yourself to the academy. ‘Rousseau’s Confessions’ ought never to have -been written; but written they were, and read they will ever be. But -as a pastime moralizing has a rare charm. We cannot always be reading -immoral masterpieces. A time comes when inaction is pleasant, and when -it is soothing to hear mild accents murmuring ‘Thou shalt not.’ For a -moment, then, let the point remain under consideration.</p> - -<p>The ethics of autobiography are, in my judgment, admirably summed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> up -by George Eliot, in a passage in ‘Theophrastus Such,’ a book which, we -were once assured, well-nigh destroyed the reputation of its author, -but which would certainly have established that of most living writers -upon a surer foundation than they at present occupy. George Eliot says:</p> - -<p>‘In all autobiography there is, nay, ought to be, an incompleteness -which may have the effect of falsity. We are each of us bound to -reticence by the piety we owe to those who have been nearest to us, -and have had a mingled influence over our lives—by the fellow-feeling -which should restrain us from turning our volunteered and picked -confessions into an act of accusation against others who have no chance -of vindicating themselves, and, most of all, by that reverence for -the higher efforts of our common nature which commands us to bury<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> -its lowest faculties, its invincible remnants of the brute, its most -agonizing struggle with temptation, in unbroken silence.’</p> - -<p>All this is surely sound morality and good manners, but it is not the -morality or the manners of Mlle. Marie Bashkirtseff, who was always -ready to barter everything for something she called Fame.</p> - -<p>‘If I don’t win fame,’ says she over and over again, ‘I will kill -myself.’</p> - -<p>Miss Blind is, no doubt, correct in her assertion that, as a painter, -Mlle. Bashkirtseff’s strong point was expression. Certainly, she had a -great gift that way with her pen. Amidst a mass of greedy utterances, -esurient longings, commonplace ejaculations, and unlovely revelations, -passages occur in this journal which bid us hold. For all her -boastings, her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> sincerity is not always obvious, but it speaks plainly -through each one of the following words:</p> - -<blockquote><p>‘What is there in us, that, in spite of plausible arguments—in -spite of the consciousness that all leads to <i>nothing</i>—we should -still grumble? I know that, like everyone else, I am going on -towards death and nothingness. I weigh the circumstances of life, -and, whatever they may be, they appear to me miserably vain, and, -for all that, I cannot resign myself. Then, it must be a force; it -must be a <i>something</i>—not merely “a passage,” a certain period -of time, which matters little whether it is spent in a palace or -in a cellar; there is, then, something stronger, truer, than our -foolish phrases about it all. It is life, in short; not merely a -passage—an unprofitable misery—but life, all that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> we hold most -dear, all that we call ours, in short.</p> - -<p>‘People say it is nothing, because we do not possess eternity. -Ah! the fools. Life is ourselves, it is ours, it is all that we -possess; how, then, is it possible to say that it is <i>nothing</i>? If -this is <i>nothing</i>, show me <i>something</i>.’</p></blockquote> - -<p>To deride life is indeed foolish. Prosperous people are apt to do so, -whether their prosperity be of this world or anticipated in the next. -The rich man bids the poor man lead an abstemious life in his youth, -and scorn delights, in order that he may have the wherewithal to spend -a dull old age; but the poor man replies:</p> - -<p>‘Your arrangements have left me nothing but my youth. I will enjoy -that, and <i>you</i> shall support me in a dull old age.’ </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span></p> - -<p>To deride life, I repeat, is foolish; but to pity yourself for -having to die is to carry egotism rather too far. This is what Mlle. -Bashkirtseff does.</p> - -<p>‘I am touched myself when I think of my end. No, it seems impossible! -Nice, fifteen years, the three Graces, Rome, the follies of Naples, -painting, ambition, unheard-of hopes—to end in a coffin, without -having had anything, not even love.’</p> - -<p>Impossible, indeed! There is not much use for that word in the human -comedy.</p> - -<p>Never, surely, before was there a lady so penetrated with her own -personality as the writer of these journals. Her arms and legs, -hips and shoulders, hopes and fears, pictures and future glory, are -all alike scanned, admired, stroked, and pondered over. She reduces -everything to one vast common <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span>denominator—herself. She gives two -francs to a starving family.</p> - -<p>‘It was a sight to see the joy, the surprise of these poor creatures. -I hid myself behind the trees. Heaven has never treated me so well; -heaven has never had any of these beneficent fancies.’</p> - -<p>Heaven had, at all events, never heard the like of this before. Here -is a human creature brought up in what is called the lap of luxury, -wearing purple and fine linen, and fur cloaks worth 2,000 francs, -eating and drinking to repletion, and indulging herself in every fancy; -she divides a handful of coppers amongst five starving persons, and -then retires behind a tree, and calls God to witness that no such -kindness had ever been extended to her.</p> - -<p>When Mlle. Elsnitz, her long-suffering companion—‘young, only -nineteen, unfortunate, in a strange<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> house without a friend’—at last, -after suffering many things, leaves the service, it is recorded:</p> - -<p>‘I could not speak for fear of crying, and I affected a careless look, -but I hope she may have seen.’</p> - -<p>Seen what? Why, that the carelessness was unreal. A quite sufficient -reparation for months of insolence, in the opinion of Miss Marie.</p> - -<p>It is said that Mlle. Bashkirtseff had a great faculty of enjoyment. -If so, except in the case of books, she hardly makes it felt. Reading -evidently gave her great pleasure; but, though there is a good deal of -rapture about Nature in her journals, it is of an uneasy character.</p> - -<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div>‘The silence that is in the starry sky,</div> -<div>The sleep that is amongst the lonely hills,’</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>do not pass into the souls of those whose ambition it is to be greeted -with loud cheers by the whole wide world. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span></p> - -<p>Whoever is deeply interested in himself always invents a God whom he -can apostrophize on suitable occasions. The existence of this deity -feeds his creator’s vanity. When the world turns a deaf ear to his -broken cries he besieges heaven. The Almighty, so he flatters himself, -cannot escape him. When there is no one else to have recourse to, when -all other means fail, there still remains—God. When your father, and -your mother, and your aunt, and your companion, and your maid, are all -wearied to death by your exhaustless vanity, you have still another -string to your bow. Sometimes, indeed, the strings may get entangled.</p> - -<p>‘Just now, I spoke harshly to my aunt, but I could not help it. She -came in just when I was weeping with my hands over my face, and was -summoning God to attend to me a little.’ </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span></p> - -<p>A book like this makes one wonder what power, human or divine, can -exorcise such a demon of vanity as that which possessed the soul of -this most unhappy girl. Carlyle strove with great energy in ‘Sartor -Resartus’ to compose a spell which should cleave this devil in three. -For a time it worked well and did some mischief, but now the magician’s -wand seems broken. Religion, indeed, can still show her conquests, and, -when we are considering a question like this, seems a fresher thing -than it does when we are reading ‘Lux Mundi.’</p> - -<p>‘Do you want,’ wrote General Gordon in his journal, ‘to be loved, -respected, and trusted? Then ignore the likes and dislikes of man in -regard to your actions; leave their love for God’s, taking Him only. -You will find that as you do so men will like you; they may despise -some things in you, but they will lean on you, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> trust you, and -He will give you the spirit of comforting them. But try to please -men and ignore God, and you will fail miserably and get nothing but -disappointment.’</p> - -<p>All those who have not yet read these journals, and prefer doing so in -English, should get Miss Blind’s volumes. There they will find this -‘human document’ most vigorously translated into their native tongue. -It, perhaps, sounds better in French.</p> - -<p>One remembers George Eliot’s tale of the lady who tried to repeat in -English the pathetic story of a French mendicant—‘J’ai vu le sang -de mon père’—but failed to excite sympathy, owing to the hopeless -realism of Saxon speech. But though better in French, the journal is -interesting in English. Whether, like the dreadful Dean, you regard man -as an odious race of vermin, or agree with an erecter spirit that he is -a being of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> infinite capacity, you will find food for your philosophy, -and texts for your sermons, in the ‘Journal of Marie Bashkirtseff.’</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span></p> - -<h2>SIR JOHN VANBRUGH.</h2> - -<p>Jeremy Collier begins his famous and witty, though dreadfully overdone, -‘Short View of the Immorality and Profaneness of the English Stage’ -with the following spirited words:</p> - -<p>‘The business of Plays is to recommend Virtue and discountenance Vice; -to show the Uncertainty of Human Greatness, the sudden turns of Fate, -and the unhappy conclusions of Violence and Injustice; ’tis to expose -the singularities of Pride and Fancy, to make Folly and Falsehood -contemptible, and to bring everything that is ill under Infamy and -Neglect.’</p> - -<p>He then adds: ‘This design has<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> been oddly pursued by the English -Stage;’ and so he launches his case.</p> - -<p>Sir John Vanbrugh, who fared very badly at the doctor’s hands, -replied—and, on the whole, with great spirit and considerable -success—in a pamphlet entitled ‘A Short Vindication of “The Relapse” -and “The Provok’d Wife” from Immorality and Profaneness.’ In this reply -he strikes out this bold apophthegm:</p> - -<p>‘The business of Comedy is to show people what they should do, by -representing them upon the stage, doing what they should not.’</p> - -<p>He continues with much good sense:</p> - -<blockquote><p>‘Nor is there any necessity a philosopher should stand by, like -an interpreter at a puppet-show, to explain the moral to the -audience. The mystery is seldom so deep but the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> pit and boxes -can dive into it, and ’tis their example out of the playhouse -that chiefly influences the galleries. The stage is a glass for -the world to view itself in; people ought, therefore, to see -themselves as they are; if it makes their faces too fair, they -won’t know they are dirty, and, by consequence, will neglect to -wash them. If, therefore, I have showed “Constant” upon the stage -what generally the thing called a fine gentleman is off it, I -think I have done what I should do. I have laid open his vices -as well as his virtues; ’tis the business of the audience to -observe where his flaws lessen his value, and, by considering the -deformity of his blemishes, become sensible how much a finer thing -he would be without them.’</p></blockquote> - -<p>It is impossible to improve upon these instructions; they are -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span>admirable. The only pity is that, as, naturally enough, Sir John wrote -his plays first, and defended them afterwards, he had not bestowed -a thought upon the subject until the angry parson gave him check. -Vanbrugh, like most dramatists of his calibre, wrote to please the -town, without any thought of doing good or harm. The two things he -wanted were money and a reputation for wit. To lecture and scold him as -if he had degraded some high and holy office was ridiculous. Collier -had an excellent case, for there can be no doubt that the dramatists -he squinted at were worse than they had any need to be. But it is -impossible to read Collier’s two small books without a good many pishes -and pshaws! He was a clericalist of an aggressive type. You cannot -withhold your sympathy from Vanbrugh’s remark:</p> - -<p>‘The reader may here be pleased<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> to take notice what this gentleman -would construe profaneness if he were once in the saddle with a good -pair of spurs upon his heels.’</p> - -<p>Now that Evangelicalism has gone out of fashion, we no longer hear -denunciations of stage-plays. High Church parsons crowd the Lyceum, and -lead the laughter in less dignified if more amusing resorts. But, for -all that, there is a case to be made against the cheerful playhouse, -but not by me.</p> - -<p>As for Sir John Vanbrugh, his two well-known plays, ‘The Relapse’ -and ‘The Provok’d Wife,’ are most excellent reading, Jeremy Collier -notwithstanding. They must be read with the easy tolerance, the amused -benignity, the scornful philosophy of a Christian of the Dr. Johnson -type. You must not probe your laughter deep; you must forget for awhile -your probationary state, and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span>remember that, after all, the thing is -but a play. Sir John has a great deal of wit of that genuine kind which -is free from modishness. He reads freshly. He also has ideas. In ‘The -Provok’d Wife,’ which was acted for the first time in the early part -of 1697, there appears the Philosophy of Clothes (thus forestalling -Swift), and also an early conception of Carlyle’s stupendous image of a -naked House of Lords. This occurs in a conversation between Heartfree -and Constant, which concludes thus:</p> - -<blockquote><p><i>Heartfree.</i> Then for her outside—I consider it merely as an -outside—she has a thin, tiffany covering over just such stuff as -you and I are made on. As for her motion, her mien, her air, and -all those tricks, I know they affect you mightily. If you should -see your mistress at a coronation, dragging her peacock’s train,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> -with all her state and insolence, about her, ’twould strike you -with all the awful thoughts that heaven itself could pretend -to from you; whereas, I turn the whole matter into a jest, and -suppose her strutting in the selfsame stately manner, with nothing -on but her stays and her under, scanty-quilted petticoat.</p> - -<p><i>Constant.</i> Hold thy profane tongue! for I’ll hear no more.</p></blockquote> - -<p>‘The Relapse’ must, I think, be pronounced Vanbrugh’s best comedy. Lord -Foppington is a humorous conception, and the whole dialogue is animated -and to the point. One sees where Sheridan got his style. There are more -brains, if less sparkle, in Vanbrugh’s repartees than in Sheridan’s.</p> - -<blockquote><p><i>Berenthia.</i> I have had so much discourse with her, that I -believe,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> were she once cured of her fondness to her husband, the -fortress of her virtue would not be so impregnable as she fancies.</p> - -<p><i>Worthy.</i> What! she runs, I’ll warrant you, into that common -mistake of fond wives, who conclude themselves virtuous because -they can refuse a man they don’t like when they have got one they do.</p> - -<p><i>Berenthia.</i> True; and, therefore, I think ’tis a presumptuous -thing in a woman to assume the name of virtuous till she has -heartily hated her husband and been soundly in love with somebody -else.</p></blockquote> - -<p>A handsome edition of Vanbrugh’s Plays has recently appeared, edited -by Mr. W. C. Ward (Lawrence and Bullen), who has prepared an excellent -Life of his author.</p> - -<p>Vanbrugh was, as all the world knows, the architect of Blenheim<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> -Palace, as he also was of Castle Howard. He became Comptroller of Works -in the reign of Queen Anne, and was appointed by King George Surveyor -of the Works at Greenwich Hospital, in the neighbourhood of which he -had property of his own. His name is still familiar in the ears of the -respectable inhabitants of Blackheath. But what is mysterious is how -and where he acquired such skill as he possessed in his profession. His -father, Giles Vanbrugh, had nineteen children, of whom thirteen appear -to have lived for some length of time, and of John’s education nothing -precise is known. When nineteen he went into France, where he remained -some years.</p> - -<p>During this period, observes Mr. Ward, ‘it may be presumed he laid the -foundation of that skill in architecture he afterwards so eminently -displayed; at least, there is no <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span>subsequent period of his life to -which we can, with equal probability, ascribe his studies in that art.’</p> - -<p>Later on, Mr. Ward says:</p> - -<blockquote><p>‘The year 1702 presents our author in a new character. Of his -architectural studies we know absolutely nothing, unless we may -accept Swift’s account, who pretends that Vanbrugh acquired the -rudiments of the art by watching children building houses of cards -or clay. But this was probably ironical. However he came by his -skill, in 1702 he stepped into sudden fame as the architect of -Castle Howard.’</p></blockquote> - -<p>It is indeed extraordinary that a man should have undertaken such big -jobs as Castle Howard and Blenheim without leaving any trace whatever -of the means by which he became credited with the power to execute -them. Mr. Pecksniff got an <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span>occasional pupil and premium, but, so far -as I know, he never designed so much as a parish pump. Blenheim is -exposed to a good deal of criticism, but nobody can afford to despise -either it or Castle Howard, and it seems certain that the original -plans and elevations of both structures were prepared by the author of -‘The Relapse’ and ‘The Provok’d Wife’ himself. Of course, there may -have been a ghost, but if there had been, the Duchess of Marlborough, -who was soon at loggerheads with her architect, would probably have -dragged it into the light of day.</p> - -<p>The wits made great fun of their distinguished colleague’s feats -in brick and mortar. It was not usually permissible for a literary -gentleman to be anything else, unless, indeed, a divine like Dr. Swift, -whose satirical verses on the small house Vanbrugh built for himself -in Whitehall are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> well known. They led to a coolness, and no one need -wonder. After the architect’s death the divine apologized and expressed regret.</p> - -<p>The well-known epigram—</p> - -<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div>‘Under this stone, reader, survey</div> -<div>Dead Sir John Vanbrugh’s house of clay</div> -<div>Lie heavy on him, Earth, for he</div> -<div>Laid many heavy loads on thee’—</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>is the composition of another doctor of divinity—Dr. Abel Evans—and -was probably prompted by envy.</p> - -<p>Amongst other things, Vanbrugh was a Herald, and in that capacity -visited Hanover in 1706, and helped to invest the Electoral Prince, -afterwards George II., with the Order of the Garter. Vanbrugh’s -personality is not clearly revealed to us anywhere, but he appears -to have been a pleasant companion and witty talker. He married late -in life, and of three children only one survived, to be killed at -Fontenoy. He himself died<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> in 1726, in his sixty-third year, of a -quinsy. His widow survived him half a century, thus affording another -proof, if proof be needed, that no man is indispensable.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span></p> - -<h2>JOHN GAY.</h2> - -<p>The first half of the eighteenth century was in England the poet’s -playground. These rhyming gentry had then a status, a claim upon -private munificence and the public purse which has long since been -hopelessly barred. A measure of wit, a tincture of taste, and a -perseverance in demand would in those days secure for the puling Muse -slices of solid pudding whilst in the flesh, and (frequently) sepulture -in the Abbey when all was over.</p> - -<p>What silk-mercer’s apprentice in these hard times, finding a place -behind Messrs. Marshall and Snelgrove’s counter not jumping with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> his -genius, dare hope by the easy expedient of publishing a pamphlet on -‘The Present State of Wit’ to become domestic steward to a semi-royal -Duchess, and the friend of Mr. Lewis Morris and Mr. Lecky, who are, -I suppose, our nineteenth-century equivalents for Alexander Pope -and Jonathan Swift? Yet such was the happy fate of Gay, who, after -an idle life of undeserved good-fortune and much unmanly repining, -died of an inflammation, in spite of the skilled care of Arbuthnot -and the unwearying solicitude of the Duchess of Queensberry, and was -interred like a peer of the realm in Westminster Abbey, having for his -pall-bearers the Earl of Chesterfield, Viscount Cornbury, the Hon. Mr. -Berkeley, General Dormer, Mr. Gore, and Mr. Pope. Such a recognition of -the author of ‘Fables’ and ‘The Beggars’ Opera’ must make Mr.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> Besant’s -mouth water. Nor did Gay, despite heavy losses in the South Sea -Company, die a pauper; he left £6,000 behind him, which, as he was wise -enough to die intestate, was divided equally between his two surviving -sisters.</p> - -<p>Gay’s good luck has never forsaken him. He enjoys, if, indeed, the -word be not the hollowest of mockeries, an eternity of fame. It is -true he is not read much, but he is always read a little. He has been -dead more than a century and a half, so it seems likely that a hundred -and fifty years hence he will be read as much as he is now, and, like -a cork, will be observed bobbing on the surface of men’s memories. -Better men and better poets than he have been, and will be, entirely -submerged; but he was happy in his hour, happy even in his name (which -lent itself to rhyme), happy in his nature; and so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> (such at least is -our prognostication) new editions of Gay’s slender remains will at long -intervals continue to appear and to attract a moment’s attention, even -as Mr. Underhill’s admirable edition of the poems has lately done; -new anthologies will contain his name, the biographical dictionaries -will never quite forget him, his tomb in the Abbey will be stared at -by impressionable youngsters, Pope’s striking epitaph will invite the -fault-finding of the critical, and his own jesting couplet incur the -censure of the moralist, until the day dawns when men cease to forget -themselves in trifles. As soon as they do this, Gay will be forgotten -once and for ever.</p> - -<p>Gay’s one real achievement was ‘The Beggars’ Opera,’ which sprang -from a sprout of Swift’s great brain. A ‘Newgate pastoral might make -an odd, pretty sort of thing,’ so the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> Dean once remarked to Gay; -and as Mr. Underhill, in his admirable Life of our poet, reminds -us, Swift repeated the suggestion in a letter to Pope: ‘What think -you of a Newgate pastoral among the whores and thieves there?’ But -Swift’s ‘Beggars’ Opera’ would not have hit the public taste between -wind and water as did Gay’s. It would have been much too tremendous -a thing—its sincerity would have damned it past redemption. Even in -Gay’s light hands the thing was risky—a speculation in the public -fancy which could not but be dangerous. Gay knew this well enough, -hence his quotation from Martial (afterwards adopted by the Tennysons -as the motto for ‘Poems by Two Brothers’), <i>Nos hæc novimus esse -nihil</i>. Congreve, resting on his laurels, declared it would either take -greatly, or be damned confoundedly. It took, and, indeed, we cannot<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> -wonder. There was a foretaste of Gilbert about it quite enough to make -its fortune in any century. Furthermore, it drove out of England, so -writes an early editor, ‘for that season, the Italian opera, which had -carried all before it for several years.’ It was a triumph for the -home-bred article, and therefore dear to the souls of all true patriots.</p> - -<p>The piece, though as wholly without sincerity as a pastoral by Ambrose -Philips, a thing merely of the footlights, entirely shorn of a single -one of the rays which glorify lawlessness in Burns’s ‘Jolly Beggars,’ -yet manages through the medium of the songs to convey a pleasing though -absurd sentimentality; and there is, perhaps, noticeable throughout a -slight—a very slight—flavour of what is cantingly but conveniently -called ‘the Revolution,’ which imparts a slender interest. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span></p> - -<p>‘The Beggars’ Opera’ startled the propriety of that strange -institution, the Church of England—a seminary of true religion which -had left the task of protesting against the foulness of Dryden and -Wycherley and the unscrupulous wit of Congreve and Vanbrugh to the -hands of non-jurors like Collier and Law, but which, speaking, we -suppose, in the interests of property, raised a warning voice when a -comic opera made fun, not of marriage vows, but of highway robbery. -Dr. Herring, afterwards Archbishop of Canterbury, plucked up courage -to preach against ‘The Beggars’ Opera’ before the Court, but the Head -of the Church paid no attention to the divine, and, with the Queen and -all the princesses, attended the twenty-first representation. The piece -brought good luck all round. ‘Everybody,’ so Mr. Underhill assures us, -‘connected<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> with the theatre (Lincoln’s Inn Fields), from the principal -performer down to the box-keepers, got a benefit,’ and Miss Lavinia -Fenton, who played Polly Peachum, lived to become Duchess of Bolton; -whilst Hogarth painted no less than three pictures of the celebrated -scene, ‘How happy could I be with either—were t’other dear charmer -away.’</p> - -<p>Dr. Johnson, in his ‘Life of Gay,’ deals scornfully with the absurd -notion that robbers were multiplied by the popularity of ‘The Beggars’ -Opera.’ ‘It is not likely to do good,’ says the Doctor, ‘nor can it be -conceived, without more speculation than life requires or admits, to be -productive of much evil.’ The Church of England might as well have held -its tongue.</p> - -<p>Gay, flushed with success, was not long in producing a sequel called -‘Polly,’ which, however, as it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span> was supposed to offend, not against -morality, which it undoubtedly did, but against Sir Robert Walpole, -was prohibited. ‘Polly’ was printed, and, being prohibited, had a -great sale. It is an exceedingly nasty piece, not unworthy of one of -the three authors who between them produced that stupidest of farces, -‘Three Hours after Marriage.’</p> - -<p>Gay’s third opera, ‘Achilles,’ was produced at Covent Garden after his -death. One does not need to be a classical purist to be offended at the -sight of ‘Achilles’ upon a stage, singing doggerel verses to the tune -of ‘Butter’d Pease,’ or at hearing Ajax exclaim:</p> - -<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div>‘Honour called me to the task,</div> -<div>No matter for explaining,</div> -<div>’Tis a fresh affront to ask</div> -<div>A man of honour’s meaning.’</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>This vulgar and idiotic stuff ran twenty nights. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span></p> - -<p>Gay’s best-known poetical pieces are his ‘Fables,’ and his undoubtedly -interesting, though intrinsically dull ‘Trivia; or, The Art of Walking -the Streets of London,’ though for our own part we would as lief read -his ‘Shepherds’ Week’ as anything else Gay has ever written.</p> - -<p>The ‘Fables’ are light and lively, and might safely be recommended -to all who are fond of an easy quotation. To lay them down is never -difficult, and if, after having done so, Swift’s ‘Confession of the -Beasts’ is taken up, how vast the difference! There are, we know, those -in whose nature there is too much of the milk of human kindness to -enable them to enjoy Swift when he shows his teeth; but however this -may be, we confess, if we are to read at all, we must prefer Swift’s -‘Beasts’ Confession’ to all the sixty-five fables of Gay put together. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span></p> - -<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div>‘The Swine with contrite heart allow’d</div> -<div>His shape and beauty made him proud</div> -<div>In diet was perhaps too nice,</div> -<div>But gluttony was ne’er his vice;</div> -<div>In every turn of life content</div> -<div>And meekly took what fortune sent.</div> -<div>Inquire through all the parish round,</div> -<div>A better neighbour ne’er was found.</div> -<div>His vigilance might some displease;</div> -<div>’Tis true he hated sloth like pease.</div> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<div>‘The Chaplain vows he cannot fawn,</div> -<div>Though it would raise him to the lawn.</div> -<div>He passed his hours among his books,</div> -<div>You find it in his meagre looks.</div> -<div>He might if he were worldly wise</div> -<div>Preferment get and spare his eyes;</div> -<div>But owns he has a stubborn spirit</div> -<div>That made him trust alone to merit;</div> -<div>Would rise by merit to promotion.</div> -<div>Alas! a mere chimeric notion.’</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>Gay was found pleasing by his friends, and had, we must believe, a kind -heart. Swift, who was a nice observer in such matters, in his famous -poem on his own death, assigns Gay a week in which to grieve:</p> - -<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div>‘Poor Pope would grieve a month, and Gay</div> -<div>A week, and Arbuthnot a day;</div> -<div>St. John himself will scarce forbear</div> -<div>To bite his pen and drop a tear;</div> -<div>The rest will give a shrug and cry,</div> -<div>“I’m sorry, but we all must die.”’</div> -</div></div></div> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span></p> -<p>It is a matter of notoriety that Gay was very fat and fond of eating. He -is, as we have already said, buried in Westminster Abbey, over against -Chaucer. When all the rubbish is carted away from the Abbey to make -room for the great men and women of the twentieth century, Gay will -probably be accounted just good enough to remain where he is. He always -was a lucky fellow, though he had not the grace to think so.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span></p> - -<h2>ROGER NORTH’S AUTOBIOGRAPHY.</h2> - -<p>The Cambridge wit who some vast amount of years ago sang of Bohn’s -publications, ‘so useful to the student of Latin and Greek,’ hit with -unerring precision the main characteristic of those very numerous -volumes. Utility was the badge of all that tribe, save, indeed, of -those woeful ‘Extra Volumes’ which are as much out of place amongst -their grave brethren as John Knox at a ballet. There was something -in the binding of Messrs. Bohn’s books which was austere, and even -forbidding; their excellence, their authority, could not be denied by -even a youthful desperado, but <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span>reading them always wore the stern -aspect of duty. The binding had undoubtedly a good deal to do with -this. It has now been discarded by Messrs. George Bell and Sons, the -present proprietors, in favour of brighter colours. The difference thus -effected is enormous. The old binding is kept in stock because, so we -are told, ‘it is endeared to many book-lovers by association.’ The -piety of Messrs. Bell has misled them. No book-lover, we feel certain, -ever held one of Messrs. Bohn’s publications in his hands except to -read it.</p> - -<p>A valuable addition has lately been made to the ‘Standard Library’ by -the publication—in three bright and cheerful volumes—of Roger North’s -well-known ‘Lives of the Norths,’ and also—and this practically for -the first time—of Roger North’s Autobiography, a book unknown to -Macaulay, and which he would have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> read with fierce interest, bludgeon -in hand, having no love for the family.</p> - -<p>Dr. Jessopp, who edits the volumes with his accustomed skill, mentions -in the Preface how the manuscript of the Autobiography belonged to -the late Mr. Crossley, of Manchester, and was sold after the death of -that bibliophile, in 1883, and four years later printed for private -circulation. It now comes before the general public. It is not long, -and deserves attention. The style is gritty and the story far from -exciting, but the book is interesting, particularly for lawyers, a -deserving class of readers for whose special entertainment small care -is usually taken.</p> - -<p>Roger North was born at Tostock, in Suffolk, in 1653—the youngest of -his brothers. Never was man more of a younger brother than he. This -book of his might be called ‘The Autobiography of a Younger Brother.’<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> -The elder brother was, of course, Francis, afterwards Lord Guilford, a -well-hated man, both in his own day and after it, but who at all events -looked well after Roger, who was some sixteen years his junior.</p> - -<p>In 1669 Roger North was admitted a student of the Middle Temple, -Francis being then a Bencher of that learned society. Roger had -chambers on the west side of Middle Temple Lane, and £10 wherewith to -furnish them and buy a gown, and other necessaries. He says it was not -enough, but that he managed to make it serve. His excellent mother, -though she had some ten children and a difficult husband, produced £30, -with which he bought law books. His father allowed him £40 a year, and -he had his big brother at hand to help him out of debt now and again.</p> - -<p>He was, we feel as we read, a little<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> uneasy under his brother’s eye. -The elder North had a disagreeable fashion of putting ‘little contempts -upon his brother,’ and a way of raising his own character by depressing -Roger’s, which was hard to bear. But Roger North bore it bravely; he -meant sticking to his brother, and stick he did. In five years he saw -Francis become King’s Counsel, Solicitor, and Attorney-General. ‘If he -should die, writes Roger, ‘I am lost.’ But Francis did not die, which -was as well, for he was much better suited for this world than the next.</p> - -<p>Roger North was no great student of the law. He was fond of -mathematics, optics, mechanics, architecture, music, and of sailing a -small yacht—given him by Mr. Windham, of Felbrigge—on the Thames; and -he gives in his Autobiography interesting accounts of these pastimes.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> -He was very anxious indeed to get on and make money, but he relied more -upon his brother than upon either his own brains or his own industry.</p> - -<p>In 1674 Francis North became Chief Justice of the Common Pleas, -succeeding Sir John Vaughan, the friend of Selden; and Roger at once -got himself called to the Bar, and thenceforward, so far as possible, -whenever Francis was on the Bench, there was Roger pleading before him. -Indeed, it went much further than this. ‘I kept so closely to him that -I can safely say I saw him abed every night without intermission for -divers years together, which enables me to contradict the malicious -report a relation raised of him, that he kept a mistress as the mode -of that time was.’ The morals of a Chief Justice two centuries after -his death having no personal concern for this <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span>generation, I feel -free to confess that I am rather sorry for Francis with Roger ever -by his side in this unpleasantly pertinacious fashion. The younger -North, so he tells us, always drove down to Westminster with the Chief -Justice, and he frankly admits that his chief <i>appui</i> was his brother’s -character, fame, and interest. Not being a Serjeant, Roger could not -actually practise in the Common Pleas, but on various circuits, at -the Guildhall, at the Treasury, and wherever else he could lawfully -go before the Chief Justice, there Roger went and got a business -together. He also made money, sometimes as much as £9 a day, from -court-keeping—that is, attending manor courts. This was a device of -his elder brother’s, who used to practise it before he was called to -the Bar. It savours of pettifogging. However, it seems in Roger’s case -to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> have led to his obtaining the patent office of Temporal Steward to -the See of Canterbury, to which he had the courage to stick after the -deprivation of Archbishop Sancroft. This dogged devotion to the Church -redeems North’s life from a commonplacedness which would otherwise be -hopeless. The Archbishop left his faithful steward £20 for a ring, but -North preferred, like a wise man, to buy books, which he had bound in -the Archbishop’s manner.</p> - -<p>In 1682 Roger North ‘took silk,’ as the phrase now goes, and became one -of the Attorney-General’s devils, in which capacity his name is to be -found in the reports of the trial of Lord William Russell. What he says -about that trial in the Autobiography is just what might be expected -from an Attorney-General’s devil—that is, that never before was a -State trial conducted with such<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> candour and fairness. He admits that -this is not the judgment of the world; but then, says he, ‘the world -never did nor will understand its true good, or reward, encourage, or -endure its true patriots and friends.’</p> - -<p>At the end of 1683 Francis North came home one night with no less -remarkable a companion in his coach than the Great Seal. Roger -instantly transposed himself to the Court of Chancery, where he began -coining money. ‘My whole study,’ he says, ‘is causes and motions.’ He -found it hard work, but he buckled to, and boasts—like so many of -his brethren, alive as well as dead—that he, at all events, always -read his briefs. In the first year his fees amounted to £4,000, in -the second to nearly as much, but in the third there was a falling -off, owing to a smaller quantity of business in the Court. A<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> new Lord -Keeper was always the occasion of the rehearing of old causes. The -defeated litigants wished to try their luck before the new man.</p> - -<p>North was at first astonished with the size of the fees he was offered; -he even refused them, thinking them bribes: ‘but my fellow-practisers’ -conversation soon cured me of that nicety.’ And yet the biggest fee he -ever got was twenty guineas. Ten guineas was the usual fee on a ‘huge’ -brief, and five ‘in the better sort of causes.’ In ordinary cases Roger -North would take two or three guineas, and one guinea for motions and -defences.</p> - -<p>In the Long Vacations Roger still stuck to his brother, who, no doubt, -found him useful. Thus when the Mayor, Aldermen, and Council of Banbury -came over to Wroxton to pay their respects to the Lord Keeper,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> they -were handed over to the charge of Roger, who walked them all over -the house to show the rooms, and then made them drunk at dinner ‘and -dismissed them to their lodgings in ditches homeward bound.’ But the -effort was too much for him, and no sooner were they gone than he had -to lie down, all on fire, upon the ground, from which he rose very sick -and scarce recovered in some days. As a rule he was a most temperate -man, and hated the custom and extravagance of drinking. He had not -enough understanding to obfuscate it by drink.</p> - -<p>All went well with the brothers until the death of Charles II. Then the -horizon grew troubled—but still Roger was being talked of as a Baron -of the Exchequer, when the Lord Keeper died on September 5, 1685. With -him ended the public life of his younger<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> brother. Roger North was only -thirty-two. He was a King’s Counsel, and in considerable practice, but -he had not the will—perhaps he had not the force—to stand alone. At -the Revolution he became a non-juror, and retired into the country. His -Autobiography also ceases with his brother’s death.</p> - -<p>He had much private family business to transact, and in 1690 he bought -the Rougham estate in Norfolk, where he carried on building and -planting on a considerable scale. He married and had children, bought -books, restored the parish church, and finally died on March 1, 1734, -in his eighty-first year.</p> - -<p>Dr. Jessopp tells us very little is left of Roger North—his house has -been pulled down, his trees pulled up, and his books dispersed. But his -Lives of his three brothers, and now his own Autobiography, will<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> keep -his memory green. There is something about him one rather likes, though -were we asked what it is, we should have no answer ready.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span></p> - -<h2>BOOKS OLD AND NEW.</h2> - -<p>Now that our century has entered upon its last decade, and draws near -the hour which will despatch it to join its too frequently and most -unjustly despised predecessor, it is pleasing to note how well it -has learnt to play the old man’s part. One has only to compare the -<i>Edinburgh Review</i> of, say, October, 1807, with its last number, to -appreciate the change that has come over us. Cocksureness, once the -badge of the tribe of critics, is banished to the schoolroom. The -hearty hatreds of our early days would ill befit a death-bed. A keen -critic has observed what a noisy<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> place England used to be. Everybody -cried out loud in the market-place, in the Senate-house, in the Law -Courts, in the Reviews and Magazines. In the year 1845 the <i>Times</i> -newspaper incurred the heavy and doubtless the just censure of the -Oxford Union for its unprincipled tone as shown in its ‘violent -attempts to foment agitation as well by inflammatory articles as by -the artifices of correspondents.’ How different it now is! We all move -about as it were in list slippers. Our watchword is ‘Hush!’ Dickens -tells us how, at Hone’s funeral, Cruikshank, being annoyed at some of -the observations of the officiating minister, whispered in Dickens’ -ear as they both moved to kneel at prayer, ‘If this wasn’t a funeral I -would punch his head.’ It was a commendable restraint. We are now, all -of us, exercising it. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span></p> - -<p>A gloomy view is being generally taken of our literary future in the -next century. Poetry, it is pretty generally agreed, has died with -Lord Tennyson. Who, it is said, can take any pride or pleasure in the -nineties, whose memory can carry him back to the sixties? What days -those were that gave us brand-new from the press ‘Philip’ and ‘The Four -Georges,’ ‘The Mill on the Floss’ and ‘Silas Marner,’ ‘Evan Harrington’ -and ‘Rhoda Fleming,’ ‘Maud,’ ‘The Idylls of the King,’ and ‘Dramatis -Personæ,’ Mr. Arnold’s New Poems, the ‘Apologia pro Vitâ Suâ,’ and -‘Verses on Various Occasions,’ four volumes of ‘Frederick the Great,’ -and ‘The Origin of Species’! One wonders in the retrospect how human -stupidity was proof against such an onslaught of wit, such a shower of -golden fancies. Why did not Folly’s fortress<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> fall? We know it did not, -for it is standing yet. Nor has any particular halo gathered round the -sixties—which, indeed, were no better than the fifties or the forties.</p> - -<p>From what source, so ask ‘the frosty pows,’ are you who call yourselves -‘jolly candidates’ for 1900, going to get your supplies? Where are -your markets? Who will crowd the theatre on your opening nights? What -well-graced actors will then cross your stage? Your boys and girls -will be well provided for, one can see that. Story-books and handbooks -will jostle for supremacy; but your men and women, all a-hungered, how -are you going to feed them and keep their tempers sweet? It is not a -question of side dishes, but of joints. Sermons and sonnets, and even -‘clergy-poets,’ may be counted upon, but they will only affront the -appetites they can never satisfy.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> What will be wanted are Sam Wellers, -Captain Costigans, and Jane Eyres—poetry that lives, controversy that -bites, speeches that stir the imagination.</p> - -<p>Thus far the aged century. To argue with it would be absurd; to silence -it cruel, and perhaps impossible. Greedy Time will soon do that.</p> - -<p>But suppose it should turn out to be the fact that we are about -to enter upon a period of well-cultivated mediocrity. What then? -Centuries cannot be expected to go on repeating the symptoms of their -predecessors. We have had no Burns. We cannot, therefore, expect to end -with the beginnings of a Wordsworth and a Coleridge; there may likely -be a lull. The lull may also be a relief. Of all odd crazes, the craze -to be for ever reading new books is one of the oddest. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span></p> - -<p>Hazlitt may be found grappling with this subject, and, as usual, -‘punishing’ it severely in his own inimitable style. ‘I hate,’ says -he, in the second volume of ‘The Plain Speaker’—in the essay entitled -‘On Reading Old Books’—‘to read new books;’ and he continues, a page -further on, ‘Contemporary writers may generally be divided into two -classes—one’s friends or one’s foes. Of the first we are compelled -to think too well, and of the last we are disposed to think too ill, -to receive much genuine pleasure from the perusal, or to judge fairly -of the merit of either. One candidate for literary fame who happens -to be of our acquaintance writes finely and like a man of genius, but -unfortunately has a foolish face, which spoils a delicate passage; -another inspires us with the highest respect for his personal talents -and character, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> does not come up to our expectations in print. All -these contradictions and petty details interrupt the calm current of -our reflections.’</p> - -<p>Hazlitt was no doubt a good hater. We are now of milder mood. It ought -not to be difficult for any of us, if we but struggle a little, to keep -a man’s nose out of his novel. But, for all that, it is certain that -true literary sway is borne but by the dead. Living authors may stir -and stimulate us, provoke our energies, and excite our sympathy, but it -is the dead who rule us from their urns.</p> - -<p>Authority has no place in matters concerning books and reading, else it -would be well were some proportion fixed between the claims of living -and dead authors.</p> - -<p>There is no sillier affectation than that of old-worldism. To rave -about Sir Thomas Browne and know<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> nothing of William Cobbett is -foolish. To turn your back upon your own time is simply to provoke -living wags, with rudimentary but effective humour, to chalk -opprobrious epithets upon your person. But, on the other hand, to -depend upon your contemporaries for literary sustenance, to be reduced -to scan the lists of ‘Forthcoming Works’ with a hungry eye, to complain -of a dearth of new poems, and new novels, and new sermons, is worse -than affectation—it is stupidity.</p> - -<p>There was a time when old books were hard to procure and difficult -to house. With the exception of a few of the greatest, it required -as much courage to explore the domains of our old authors as it -did to visit Wast Water or Loch Maree before the era of roads and -railways. The first step was to turn the folios into octavos, and to -publish complete<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> editions; the second was to cheapen the price of -issue. The first cheap booksellers were, it is sometimes alleged, -men of questionable character in their trade. Yet their names should -be cherished. They made many young lives happy, and fostered better -taste than either or both the Universities. Hogg, Cooke, Millar, -Donaldson, Bell, even Tegg, the ‘extraneous Tegg’ of Carlyle’s famous -Parliamentary petition, did good work in their day. Somehow or another -the family libraries of the more respectable booksellers hung fire. -They did not find their way about. Perhaps their authors were selected -with too much care.</p> - -<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div>‘He wales a portion with judicious care.’</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>The pious Cottar did well, but the world is larger than the family; -besides which it is not always ‘Saturday Night.’ Cooke had no -scruples.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span> He published ‘Tom Jones’ in fortnightly, and (I think) -sixpenny parts, embellished with cuts, and after the same appetising -fashion proceeded right through the ‘British Novelists.’ He did the -same with the ‘British Poets.’ It was a noble enterprise. You never see -on a stall one of Cooke’s books but it is soiled by honest usage; its -odour speaks of the thousand thumbs that have turned over its pages -with delight. Cooke made an immense fortune, and deserved to do so. -He believed both in genius and his country. He gave the people cheap -books, and they bought them gladly. He died at an advanced age in 1810. -Perhaps when he came to do so he was glad he had published a series of -‘Sacred Classics,’ as well as ‘Tom Jones.’</p> - -<p>We are now living in an age of handsome reprints. It is possible to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> -publish a good-sized book on good paper and sell it at a profit for -fourpence halfpenny. But of course to do this, as the profit is too -small to bear division, you must get the Authors out of the way. Our -admirable copyright laws and their own sedentary habits do this on -the whole satisfactorily and in due course. Consequently dead authors -are amazingly cheap. Not merely Shakespeare and Milton, Bunyan and -Burns, but Scott and Macaulay, Thackeray and Dickens. Living authors -are deadly dear. You may buy twenty books by dead men at the price of -one work by a living man. The odds are fearful. For my part, I hope -a <i>modus vivendi</i> may be established between the publishers of the -dead and those of the living; but when you examine the contents of the -‘Camelot Classics,’ the ‘Carisbrooke Library,’ the ‘Chandos <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span>Classics,’ -the ‘Canterbury Poets,’ the ‘Mermaid Series of the Old Dramatists,’ -and remember, or try to remember, the publishing lists of Messrs. -Routledge, Mr. Black, Messrs Warne, and Messrs. Cassell, it is easy -for the reader to snap his fingers at Fate. It cannot touch him—he -can dine for many a day. Even were our ‘lyrical cry’ to be stifled for -half a century, what with Mr. Bullen’s ‘Elizabethan Lyrics,’ and ‘More -Elizabethan Lyrics,’ and ‘Lyrics from the Dramatists,’ and ‘Lyrics from -the Romances,’ and Mr. Palgrave’s ‘Golden Treasury,’ ‘a man,’ as Mr. -Markham observes in ‘David Copperfield,’ ‘might get on very well here,’ -even though that man were, as Markham asserted himself to be, ‘hungry -all day long.’ A British poet does not cease to be a poet because he -is dead, nor is he,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> for that matter, any the better a poet for being -alive.</p> - -<p>As for a scarcity of living poets proving national decadence, it would -be hard to make out that case. Who sang Chatham’s victories by sea and land?</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span></p> - -<h2>BOOK-BINDING.</h2> - -<p>There is a familiar anecdote of the ingenious author of ‘The Seasons,’ -‘Rule, Britannia,’ and other excellent pieces, that when he sent a -well-bound copy of his poems to his father, who had always regarded -him, not altogether unjustly, as a ‘feckless loon,’ that canny Scot -handled the volume with unfeigned delight, and believing that his son -had bound it, cried out admiringly, ‘Who would have thought our Jamie -could have done the like of this?’ This particular copy has not been -preserved, and it is therefore impossible for us to determine how far -its bibliopegic merits<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> justified the rapture of the elder Thomson, -whose standard is not likely to have been a high one. Indeed, despite -his rusticity, he was probably a better judge of poetry than of binding.</p> - -<p>This noble craft has revived in our midst. Twenty years ago, in -ordinary circles, the book-binder was a miscreant who, by the aid of a -sharp knife, a hideous assortment of calf-skins and of marbled papers, -bound your books for you by slaughtering their margins, stripping their -sides, and returning them upon your hands cropped and in prison garb, -and so lettered as to tell no man what they were. And the worst of it -was we received them with complacency, gave them harbourage upon our -shelves, and only grumbled that the price was so high as four shillings -a volume. Those days are over. Yet it is well to be <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span>occasionally -reminded of the rock from whence we were hewn, and the pit out of which -we were digged. I have now lying before me a first edition of the -essays of Elia which, being in boards, I allowed to be treated by a -provincial called Shimmin, in the sixties. I remember its coming home, -and how I thought it was all right. Infancy was no excuse for such -ignorance.</p> - -<p>The second-hand booksellers, a race of men for whom I have the -greatest respect, are to blame in this matter. They did not play the -part they might have been expected to do. They gave no prominence in -their catalogues, which are the true text-books of literature, to -specimens of book-binding, nor did they instil into the minds of their -young customers the rudiments of taste. Worse than this, some of the -second-hand booksellers in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> country were themselves binders, and, -for the most part, infamous ones.</p> - -<p>One did, indeed, sometimes hear of Roger Payne and of the Harleian -style, but dimly, and as a thing of no moment, nor were our eyes ever -regaled in booksellers’ catalogues with facsimiles of the exquisite -bindings of the French and English masters. Nor was it until we -went further afield, and became acquainted with the booksellers of -Paris, that this new world swam into our ken. It was a great day -when a stray copy of a ‘Bulletin Mensuel’ of Damascene Morgand, the -famous bookseller in the Passage des Panoramas, fell into the hands -of a mere country book-buyer. Then he knew how brutally he had been -deceived—then he looked with loathing on his truncated tomes and their -abominable devices. The first really<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> bound book I ever saw was a copy -of the works of Pierre de Ronsard bearing the devices of Marguerite de -Valois. The price was so far beyond my resources that I left the shop -without a touch of envy, but the scales had fallen from my eyes, and I -walked down the Passage des Panoramas as one who had awakened from a -dream.</p> - -<p>Nowadays it is quite different. The Arts and Crafts Exhibition did -much, and the second-hand booksellers, in quite ordinary places, are -beginning to give in their catalogues reproductions of noble specimens. -Nothing else is required. To see is enough. There was recently, as -most people know, a wonderful exhibition of bindings to be seen at -the Burlington Fine Art Club, but what is not so generally known is -that the Club has published a magnificent catalogue of the contents of -that Exhibition,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> with no less than 114 plates reproducing with the -greatest possible skill and delicacy some of the finest specimens. Mr. -Gordon Duff, who is credited with a profounder knowledge of pigskins -than any living man, has contributed a short preface to the volume, -whilst Miss Prideaux, herself a binder of great merit, has written a -general introduction, in which she traces the history of the craft, and -duly records the names of the most famous binders of Europe. A more -fascinating picture-book cannot be imagined, for to the charm of colour -and design is added all the feeling which only a book can impart. Such -a book as this marks an epoch, and ought to be the beginning of a time -when even sale-catalogues shall take pains to be splendid.</p> - -<p>When the library of the Baron de Lacarelle came to be dispersed at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> -his death a few years ago, the auctioneer’s catalogue, as issued by -Charles Porquet, of the Quai Voltaire, made a volume which, wherever it -goes, imparts dignity to human endeavour, and consecrates a virtuoso’s -whim. It was but a small library—only 540 books—and to call it well -selected would be to abuse a term one has learnt to connect with Major -Ponto’s library in ‘The Book of Snobs.’ ‘My library’s small,’ says -Ponto, with the most amazing impudence, ‘but well selected, my boy, -well selected. I have been reading the History of England all the -morning.’ He could not have done this in the Baron’s library.</p> - -<p>As you turn the pages of this glorified catalogue, his treasures seem -to lie before you—you can almost stroke them. A devoted friend, <i>de la -Société des Bibliophiles français</i>, contributes an ecstatic<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> sketch of -the Baron’s character, and tells us of him how he employed in his hunt -after a book infinite artifice, and called to his aid all the resources -of learned strategy—‘poussant ses approches et manœuvrant, autour de -la place, avec la prudence et le génie d’un tacticien consommé, si -bien que le malheureux libraire, enlacé, fasciné, hypnotisé par ce -grand charmeur, finissait presque toujours par capituler et se rendre.’ -This great man only believed in one modern binder: Trautz. The others -did not exist for him. ‘Cherchez-vous à le convertir? Il restait -incorruptible et répétait invariablement, avec cet esprit charmant, -mais un peu railleur, dont il avait le privilège, que s’il était jamais -damné, son enfer serait de remuer une reliure de Capé ou de Lortic!’</p> - -<p>It is all very splendid and costly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> and grand, yet still from time to -time,</p> - -<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div>‘From the soul’s subterranean depth upborne,’</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>there comes the thought of Charles Lamb amidst ‘the ragged veterans’ he -loved so well, and then in an instant a reaction sets in, and we almost -hate this sumptuous Baron.</p> - -<p>Thomson’s “Seasons,” again, looks best (I maintain it) a little torn -and dog’s-eared. How beautiful to a genuine lover of reading are the -sullied leaves and worn-out appearance, nay, the very odour (beyond -Russia), if we would not forget kind feelings in fastidiousness, of an -old “circulating library” “Tom Jones” or the “Vicar of Wakefield”!’ -Thus far, Elia.</p> - -<p>Let us admit that the highest and noblest joys are those which are in -widest commonalty spread, and that accordingly the clay pipe of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> -artisan is more truly emotional than the most marvellous meerschaum to -be seen in the shop-windows of Vienna—still, the collector has his -joys and his uses, his triumphant moments, his hours of depression, -and, if only he publishes a catalogue, may be pronounced in small type -a benefactor of the human race.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span></p> - -<h2>POETS LAUREATE.</h2> - -<p>About forty years ago two ingenious gentlemen, Mr. Austin, of Exeter -College, and Mr. Ralph, a member of the Bar, published a book -containing short sketches of the lives of Poets Laureate of this -realm, beginning with Ben Jonson and ending with Wordsworth, and also -an essay on the Title and Office. It has sometimes been rudely said -that Laureates came into fashion when fools and jesters went out, but -the perusal of Messrs. Austin and Ralph’s introductory essay, to say -nothing of the most cursory examination of the table of contents of -their volume, is enough to disprove the truth of this saying. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span></p> - -<p>A Laureate was originally a purely University title, bestowed upon -those Masters of Arts who had exhibited skill in the manufacture of -Latin verses, and had nothing to do with the civil authority or royal -favour. Thus, the famous Skelton (1460-1529) was laureated at Oxford, -and afterwards obtained permission to wear his laurel at Cambridge; but -though tutor to King Henry VIII., and, according to Miss Strickland, -the original corrupter of that monarch, he was never a Poet Laureate in -the modern sense of the word; that is, he was never appointed to hold -the place and quality of Poet Laureate to his Majesty. I regret this, -for he was a man of original genius. Campbell, writing in 1819, admits -his ‘vehemence and vivacity,’ but pronounces his humour ‘vulgar and -flippant,’ and his style a texture of slang phrases; but Mr. Churton<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> -Collins, in 1880, declares that Skelton reminds him more of Rabelais -than any author in our language, and pronounces him one of the most -versatile and essentially original of all our poets. We hold with Mr. -Collins.</p> - -<p>Skelton was popularly known as a Poet Laureate, and in the earliest -edition of his poems, which bears no date, but is about 1520, he is -described on the title-page as ‘Mayster Skelton, Poet Laureate,’ as he -also is in the first collected edition of 1568, ‘Pithy pleasaunt and -profitable works of Maister Skelton, Poete Laureate.’ This title was -the University title, and not a royal one.</p> - -<p>Spenser is sometimes reckoned amongst the Poets Laureate; but, as a -matter of fact, he had no right to the title at all, nor did he or -his publishers ever assume it. He is, of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> course, one of the poetical -glories of Cambridge, but he was never laureated there, nor did Queen -Elizabeth ever appoint him her poet, though she granted him £50 a year.</p> - -<p>The first Laureate, in the modern sense of the word, is undoubtedly -Ben Jonson, to whom Charles I. made out a patent conferring upon this -famous man £100 a year and ‘a terse of Canary Spanish wine,’ which -latter benefit the miserable Pye commuted for £27. From Jonson to -Tennyson there is no breach of continuity, for Sir William Davenant, -who was appointed in 1638, survived till the Restoration, dying in -1668. The list is a curious one, and is just worth printing: Jonson, -Davenant, Dryden, Shadwell, Nahum Tate, Rowe, the Rev. Laurence Eusden, -Colley Cibber, William Whitehead, the Rev. Thomas Warton, Henry<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> James -Pye, Robert Southey, William Wordsworth, Lord Tennyson.</p> - -<p>One must be charitable in these matters. Here are fourteen names -and four great ones—Jonson, Dryden, Wordsworth and Tennyson; two -distinguished ones—Nicholas Rowe and Robert Southey; two clever -names—Shadwell and Colley Cibber; two respectable names—Tate -and Warton; one interesting name—Davenant; and three unutterable -names—Eusden, Whitehead and Pye. After all, it is not so very bad. -The office was offered to Gray, and he refused it. Pope, as a Roman -Catholic, was out of the question. It would have suited Thomson well -enough, and have tickled Goldsmith’s fancy mightily. Collins died too young.</p> - -<p>But Eusden, Whitehead and Pye, how did they manage it? and what in the -name of wonder did they write?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> Eusden was of Irish extraction, but -was born the son of an English clergyman, and was like most poets a -Cambridge man. He owed his appointment in 1718 to the Duke of Newcastle -of the period, whose favour he had won by a poem addressed to him on -the occasion of his marriage with the Lady Henrietta Godolphin. But he -had also qualified for the office by verses sacred to the memory of -George I., and in praise of George II.</p> - -<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div>‘Hail, mighty monarch! whom desert alone</div> -<div>Would, without birthright, raise up to the throne,</div> -<div>Thy virtues shine peculiarly nice,</div> -<div>Ungloomed with a confinity to vice.’</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>To do Grub Street justice, it was very angry with this appointment, -and Hesiod Cooke wrote a poem called ‘The Battle of the Poets,’ in -which the new Laureate was severely but truthfully handled in verse not -conspicuously better than his own: </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span></p> - -<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div>‘Eusden, a laurelled bard by fortune rais’d,</div> -<div>By very few been read—by fewer prais’d.’</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>Eusden is the author of ‘Verses Spoken at the Public Commencement in -Cambridge,’ published in quarto, which are said to be indecent. Our -authors refer to them as follows:</p> - -<p>‘Those prurient lines which we dare not quote, but which the curious -may see in the library of the British Museum, were specially composed -and repeated for the edification and amusement of some of the noblest -and fairest of our great-great-grandmothers.’ Eusden took to drinking -and translating Tasso, and died at his living, for he was a parson, of -Coningsby in Lincolnshire.</p> - -<p>Of William Whitehead you may read in Campbell’s ‘Specimens of the -British Poets.’ He was the son of a baker, was school-tutor to -Lord Lymington, and having been treated at Oxford in the shabby -way that seat of learning has ever treated<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> poets—from Shirley to -Calverley—proceeded to Cambridge, that true nest of singing-birds, -where he obtained a Fellowship and the post of domestic tutor to the -eldest son of the Earl of Jersey. He was always fond of the theatre, -and his first effort was a little farce which was never published, -but which tempted him to compose heavy tragedies which were. Of -these tragedies it would be absurd to speak; they never enjoyed -any popularity, either on the stage or in the closet. He owed his -appointment—which he did not obtain till Gray had refused it—entirely -to his noble friends.</p> - -<p>Campbell had the courage to reprint a longish poem of Whitehead’s -called ‘Variety: a Tale for Married People.’ It really is not very, -very, bad, but it will never be reprinted again; and so I refer ‘the -curious’ to Mr. Campbell’s seventh volume. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span></p> - -<p>As for Pye, he was a scholar and a gentleman, a barrister, a member of -Parliament, and a police magistrate. On his father’s death he inherited -a large estate, which he actually sold to pay his parent’s debts, -though he was under no obligation to do so, as in those days a man’s -real estate was not liable to pay the debts he might chance to leave -undischarged at his death. To pay a dead man’s debts out of his land -was to rob his heir. Pye was not famous as a Parliamentary orator, but -he was not altogether silent, like Gibbon; for we read that in 1788 -he told the House that his constituents had suffered from a scanty -hay-harvest. He was appointed Laureate in 1790, and he died in 1813. -He was always made fun of as a poet, and, unfortunately for him, there -was another poet in the House at the same time, called Charles Small -Pybus; hence the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span> jest, ‘Pye et Parvus Pybus,’ which was in everyone’s -mouth. He was a voluminous author and diligent translator, but I do not -recollect ever seeing a single book of his in a shop, or on a stall, or -in a catalogue. As a Poet Great Pye is dead—as dead as Parvus Pybus, -M.P., but let us all try hard to remember that he paid his father’s -debts out of his own pocket.</p> - -<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div>‘Only the actions of the just,</div> -<div>Smell <i>sweet</i> and blossom in their dust.’</div> -</div></div></div> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span></p> - -<h2>PARLIAMENTARY CANDIDATES.</h2> - -<p>The best time to study at leisure the habits and manners of the -candidate for Parliament is shortly before an anticipated dissolution. -Even as once in a series of years the astronomer furbishes up his -telescope and observes the transit of a planet across the surface of -the sun, so, as a General Election approaches, and when, consequently, -candidates are numerous, the curious observer of human nature in all -its wayward manifestations hastens to some place where experience has -taught him candidates will be found gathered together.</p> - -<p>No spot is so favourable for an investigation of this kind as the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> -scene of a contested by-election which takes place when a General -Election is at no great distance. The investigation cannot with -safety be postponed until a General Election. Then all is hurry and -confusion. There is a fight in every constituency. No man can help his -neighbour. Everybody is on his own war-path. There is, therefore, no -concentration of candidates. They are scattered up and down the land -and so flurried that it is almost impossible to observe their humours. -To appreciate a candidate properly takes time—a great deal of time. -But at a by-election shortly before a General Election candidates are -to be found in shoals—genuine candidates who have all gone through -the proud process of selection, who enjoy a status peculiarly their -own, who have a part to play, and play it with spirit. They hurry to -the contest from afar.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> With what readiness do they proffer their -services! Like sea-birds, they come screaming and flapping their -wings, and settle down at the same hotel, which for days resounds with -their cheerful cries. This is quite the best place to observe them. In -the smoking-room at night, after their oratorical labours are over, -they are very great, very proud, very happy. Their talk is of their -constituencies, as they are pleased to designate the districts which -have chosen them. They retail the anecdotes with which they are wont -to convulse their audiences. The stories are familiar, but not as they -tell them.</p> - -<p>What a contrast do these bright, hopeful creatures present to their -taciturn, cynical companions!—sombre figures, who sit sucking at their -pipes, the actual members of Parliament, who, far from flying<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> joyfully -to the field of battle, as the candidate has just done, have been -driven there, grunting and grumbling, by the angry crack of the party -Whips.</p> - -<p>As you listen to the frank, exuberant speech of the candidate, -recounting the points he has made during the day, the conviction he -has brought home to the waverer, the dilemmas he has thrust upon his -opponents, the poor show made by somebody who thought to embarrass -him by an interruption, and compare it with the gloomy asides of the -member, who, however brave a figure he may have made upon the platform -an hour or two before, seems now painfully alive to the inherent -weakness of his cause, doubtful of victory anywhere, certain of defeat -where he is, it is almost impossible to believe that once upon a time -the member was himself a candidate. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span></p> - -<p>Confidence is the badge of the tribe of candidates. How it is born, -where it is bred, on what it feeds save vanity, we cannot tell. Figures -cannot shake it. It is too majestical to be affected by ridicule. From -scorn and brutal jest it turns contemptuously away. When a collision -occurs between the boundless confidence of the candidate and the -bottomless world-wearied scepticism of the member, it is interesting -to note how wholly ineffectual is the latter to disturb, even for a -moment, the beautifully poised equilibrium of the former.</p> - -<p>‘I always forget the name of the place you are trying for,’ I -lately overheard a member, during an election contest, observe at -breakfast-time to a candidate.</p> - -<p>‘The Slowcombe Division of Mudfordshire,’ replied the candidate.</p> - -<p>‘Oh!’ said the member, with a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> groan, as he savagely chipped at his -egg; ‘I thought they had given you something better than that.’</p> - -<p>‘I wish for nothing better,’ said the candidate; ‘I’m safe enough.’</p> - -<p>And so saying, he rose from the table, and, taking his hat, went off on -to the Parade, where he was soon joined by another candidate, and the -pair whiled away a couple of hours in delightful converse.</p> - -<p>The politics of candidates are fierce things. In this respect the -British commodity differs materially from the American. Mr. Lowell -introduces the American candidate as saying:</p> - -<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div>‘Ez to my princerples, I glory</div> -<div class="i1">In hevin’ nothin’ o’ the sort.</div> -<div>I ain’t a Whig, I ain’t a Tory—</div> -<div class="i1">I’m just a Canderdate, in short.’</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>Our candidates—good, excellent fellows that they are—are not a bit -like Mr. Lowell’s. They have as many principles as a fish has bones;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span> -their vision is clear. The following expressions are constantly on -their lips:</p> - -<p>‘I can see no difficulty about it—I have explained it all to my people -over and over again, and no more can they. I and my constituency -are entirely at one in the matter. I must say our leaders are very -disappointing My people are getting a little dissatisfied, though, of -course, I tell them they must not expect everything at once, and I -think they see that’—and so on for an hour or two.</p> - -<p>There is nothing a candidate hates more than a practical difficulty; he -feels discomfited by it. It destroys the harmony of his periods, the -sweep of his generalizations. All such things he dismisses as detail, -‘which need not now detain us, gentlemen.’</p> - -<p>Herein, perhaps, consists the true happiness of the candidate. He is -the embodied Hope of his party. He<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> will grapple with facts—when he -becomes one. In the meantime he floats about, cheered wherever he goes. -It is an intoxicating life.</p> - -<p>Sometimes when candidates and members meet together—not to aid their -common cause at a by-election, but for the purpose of discussing the -prospects of their party—the situation gets a little accentuated. -Candidates have a habit of glaring around them, which is distinctly -unpleasant; whilst some members sniff the air, as if that were a -recognised method of indicating the presence of candidates. Altogether, -the less candidates and members see of one another, the better. They -are antipathetic; they harm one another.</p> - -<p>The self-satisfaction and hopefulness of the candidate, his noisy -torrent of talk ere he is dashed below, his untiring enunciation of -platitudes and fallacies, his abuse of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> opponents, the weight of whose -arm he has never felt—all these things, harmless as they are, far from -displeasing in themselves, deepen the gloom of the sitting member, into -whose soul the iron of St. Stephen’s has entered, relax the tension of -his mind, unnerve his vigour, corrode his faith; whilst, on the other -hand, his demeanour and utterances, his brutal recognition of failure -on his own side, and of merit in his opponent’s, are puzzling to the -candidate.</p> - -<p>The leaders of parties will do well if they keep members and candidates -apart. The latter should always herd together.</p> - -<p>To do candidates justice, they are far more amusing, and much better -worth studying, than members.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span></p> - -<h2>THE BONÂ-FIDE TRAVELLER.</h2> - -<p>This thirsty gentleman is threatened with extinction. His Sabbatical -pint is in danger. He has been reported against by a Royal Commission. -Threatened men, I know, live long, and it is not for me to raise -false alarms, but though the end of the <i>bonâ-fide</i> traveller may be -not yet, his glory has departed. His more than Sabbath-day journeys -in search of the liquor that he loves, extended though they are -by statute over three dreary, dusty miles of turnpike, have been -ridiculed, and, worse than that, his <i>bonâ-fide</i> character—hitherto -his proud passport to intoxication—has<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> been roughly condemned as -pleonastic. A pretty pleonasm, truly, which has broached many a barrel. -The Commissioners say, ‘We think it would be advisable to eliminate -the words <i>bonâ-fide</i>. No sensible person could suppose that the -Legislature in using the word “traveller” meant to include persons who -make a pretence only of being such, and are not travellers really and -in fact.’ At present there are two classes of Sunday travellers: there -is the real traveller and there is the <i>bonâ-fide</i> traveller. It is the -latter whose existence is menaced. The sooner he dies the better, for, -in plain English, he is a drunken dog.</p> - -<p>The Report of the Royal Commission as to the operation of the Welsh -Sunday Closing Act of 1881 has been published, and, as the phrase -runs, will repay perusal. It is full of humanity and details about<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> -our neighbours, their habits and customs. However true it may have -been, or still may be, that one half of the world does not know how -the other half lives, it is a libel upon the curiosity of mankind to -attribute this ignorance to indifference. No facts are more popular, -than those which relate to people’s lives. Could it be discovered how -many people prefer tea without sugar, the return would be printed in -every newspaper of Great Britain, and be made the text of tens of -thousands of leading articles. We are all alike in this respect, though -some of us are ashamed to own it. We are by no means sure that the man -answered badly who, when asked which of George Eliot’s characters was -lodged most firmly in human memories, replied boldly, Mrs. Linnet. -Everybody remembers Mrs. Linnet, and grins broadly at the very mention<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> -of her name. ‘On taking up the biography of a celebrated preacher, -she immediately turned to the end to see what disease he died of; and -if his legs swelled as her own occasionally did, she felt a stronger -interest in ascertaining any earlier facts in the history of the -dropsical divine; whether he had ever fallen off a stage-coach, whether -he had married more than one wife, and, in general, any adventures -or repartees recorded of him prior to the epoch of his conversion. -Then she glanced over the letters and diary, and wherever there was a -predominance of Zion, the River of Life, and notes of exclamation, she -turned over to the next page; but any passage in which she saw such -promising nouns as “small-pox,” “pony,” or “boots and shoes,” at once -arrested her.’ How inimitable it is! And yet Mr. Oscar Browning prefers -‘Daniel Deronda.’<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span> It is a comforting reflection that whether you write -well or whether you write ill, you have always an audience.</p> - -<p>But Mrs. Linnet’s deep-rooted popularity proves how fond we all are of -escaping from abstractions and predictions, and seizing hold of the -things about which we really feel ourselves entitled to an opinion. -Mrs. Linnet would have read a great part of the Report to which I -have referred with much interest. It is full of most promising nouns. -Mrs. Linnet’s opinion as to a <i>bonâ-fide</i> traveller would be quite as -valuable as Lord Balfour of Burleigh’s.</p> - -<p>But who is a <i>bonâ-fide</i> traveller? He is a person who seeks drink -on Sunday during hours when by law public-houses are closed. He has -therefore to make out a special case for being supplied with drink. -The fact that he is thirsty counts for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> nothing. Everybody is thirsty -on Sunday. His special case is that he is not a resident, but a -traveller, and wants refreshment to enable him to go on travelling. But -here the law steps in, ‘big-wigged, voluminous-jawed,’ and adds this -qualification—that nobody shall be considered a <i>bonâ-fide</i> traveller -who is not three miles away from his last bed. An attorney’s clerk of -three months’ standing could have foretold what has happened, namely, -that everybody who is three miles from home becomes at once and <i>ipso -facto</i> a <i>bonâ fide</i> traveller. You rap with your knuckles at the door -of the shut inn; it is partially opened, and the cautious publican or -his spouse inquires of you where you come from; you name a city of the -plain four miles off, and the next moment finds you comfortably seated -in the bar-parlour. Falsely to represent<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> yourself as a <i>bonâ-fide</i> -traveller is a misdemeanor, but assuming you are three miles away -from home, how can such a representation be made falsely? We are all -pilgrims in this world. If my sole motive for walking three miles on -Sunday is to get a pint of beer at the Griffin, doubtless I am not a -<i>bonâ-fide</i> traveler, but if my motive be to get both the walk and the -beer, who dare asperse my good faith? Should I have taken the walk but -for the beer, or should I have taken the beer but for the walk? are -questions far too nice to be made the subject of summary process.</p> - -<p>The Commissioners cannot be accused of shirking this difficult -question. They brace up their minds to it, and deliver themselves -as follows. There is, say they, in language of almost Scriptural -simplicity, first the traveler who makes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span> a journey either by railway -or otherwise, on business or for some other necessary cause. His case, -in the opinion of the Commissioners, is a simple one. He is entitled to -drink by the way. But next, proceed the Commissioners in language of -less merit, ‘there is the individual who leaves his place of residence -in the morning, or it may be later in the day, intending to be absent -for some hours, inclusive perhaps, but not necessarily, of his mid-day -meal, his object being primarily change of air and scene, exercise, -relaxation of some kind, a visit to friends, or some reasonable cause -other than merely to qualify for entrance into a licensed house.’ -This is the mixed-motive case already hinted at. Then, thirdly, there -is the bold bad man ‘who goes from his home to a point not less than -three miles distant, either on foot or by wheeled<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> vehicle by road or -rail, primarily if not solely to procure the drink which the Act denies -him within three miles of where he lodged the previous night.’ This -gentleman is the genuine <i>bonâ-fide</i> traveler known to all policemen -and magistrates, and it is he who is threatened with extinction. But -how is he to be differentiated from the individual who leaves his place -of residence in the morning and goes to a place, not in search of -drink, but where, for all that, drink is? For example, it appears from -this Report that near Swansea is a place of resort called the Mumbles. -A great many people go there every Sunday, and a considerable number -return home drunk at night; but, say the Commissioners, and we entirely -believe them, ‘it is impossible for us to say what proportion of them -go for change and exercise and what proportion<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span> for the sake of drink.’ -But if it be impossible, how is the distinction between the individual -who leaves his place of residence in the morning, and the bold bad man, -to be maintained?</p> - -<p>There are those who would abolish the exemption in favour of travellers -altogether. Let him who travels on Sunday take his liquor with him in -a flask. There are others who would allow his glass to the traveller -who is not on pleasure bent, but would refuse it to everybody else. A -third party hold that a man who takes exercise for his health is as -much entitled to refreshment as the traveller who goes on business. No -one has been found bold enough to say a word for the man who travels in -order that he may drink.</p> - -<p>The Commissioners, after the wont of such men, steer a middle course. -They agree with the Rev. Dr. Parry,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> Moderator of the General Assembly -of the Calvinistic Methodists of Wales, who declared that he would not -exclude from reasonable refreshment ‘a man who goes from his place -of residence on Sunday to see the country’! I confess I should like -to have both Dr. Parry’s and a Welsh collier’s opinion as to what is -reasonable refreshment. Then, again, ‘to see the country’ is a vague -phrase.</p> - -<p>The Commissioners suggest a new clause, to run as follows:</p> - -<p>‘No person shall be deemed to be within the exception relating to -travellers unless he proves that he was actually engaged in travelling -for some purpose other than that of obtaining intoxicating liquor, -and that he has not remained on the licensed premises longer than was -reasonably required for the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span>transaction of his necessary business or -for the purpose of necessary rest, refreshment, or shelter from the -weather.’</p> - -<p>This is nothing but a repeal of the three-mile limit. How is a -wayfaring man to prove that he is travelling for some purpose other -than that of obtaining intoxicating liquor? He can only assert the -fact, and unless he is a notorious drunkard, both the publican and -the magistrate are bound to believe him. Were the suggestion of the -Commissioners to be carried out, it probably would be found that our -old friend the <i>bonâ-fide</i> traveller could get his liquor and curtail -his walk.</p> - -<p>I should like Mrs. Linnet’s opinion; but failing hers, can only express -my own, which is that Sunday drinking is so bad a thing that if it -can be stopped it ought to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span> be so, even though it were to follow as a -consequence that no traveller could get drink from Saturday night till -Monday morning except at the place where he spent the night.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span></p> - -<h2>‘HOURS IN A LIBRARY.’</h2> - -<p>In the face of the proverb about the pavement of the way to hell, I -am prepared to maintain that good intentions are better than bad, and -that evil is the wretch who is not full of good intentions and holy -plans at the beginning of each New Year. Time, like a fruitful plain, -then lies stretched before you; the eye rests on tuneful groves, cool -meadow-lands, and sedgy streams, whither you propose to wander, and -where you promise yourself many happy, well-spent hours. I speak in -metaphors, of course—pale-faced Londoner that I am—my meadows<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span> and -streams are not marked upon the map: they are (coming at once to the -point, for this is a generation which is only teased by allegory) the -old books I mean to read over again during the good year of grace -1894. Yonder stately grove is Gibbon; that thicket, Hobbes; where the -light glitters on the green surface (it is black mud below) is Sterne; -healthful but penetrating winds stir Bishop Butler’s pages and make -your naked soul shiver, as you become more and more convinced, the -longer you read, that ‘someone has blundered,’ though whether it is you -or your Maker remains, like everything else, unsolved. Each one of us -must make out his own list. It were cruelty to prolong mine, though it -is but begun.</p> - -<p>As a grace before meat, or, if the simile be preferred, as the -<i>Zakuska</i> or <i>Vorschmack</i> before dinner, let me<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span> urge upon all to read -the three volumes, lately reissued and very considerably enlarged, -called ‘Hours in a Library,’ by Mr. Leslie Stephen.</p> - -<p>Mr. Stephen is a bracing writer. His criticisms are no sickly fruit -of fond compliance with his authors. By no means are they this, but -hence their charm. There is much pestilent trash now being talked about -‘Ministry of Books,’ and the ‘Sublimity of Art,’ and I know not what -other fine phrases. It almost amounts to a religious service conducted -before an altar of first editions. Mr. Stephen takes no part in such -silly rites. He remains outside with a pail of cold water.</p> - -<blockquote><p>‘It sometimes strikes readers of books that literature is, on -the whole, a snare and a delusion. Writers, of course, do not -generally share that impression; and on the contrary<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span> have said -a great many fine things about the charm of conversing with the -choice minds of all ages, with the <i>innuendo</i>, to use the legal -phrase, that they themselves modestly demand some place amongst -the aforesaid choice minds. But at times we are disposed to retort -upon our teachers. “Are you not,” we observe, “exceedingly given -to humbug?”’</p></blockquote> - -<p>Mr. Stephen has indeed, by way of preface to his own three volumes, -collected a goodly number of these very fine things, but then he has, -with grim humour, dubbed them ‘Opinions of Authors,’ thus reducing them -to the familiar level of ‘Nothing like leather!’</p> - -<p>But of course, though Mr. Leslie Stephen, like the wise man he is, -occasionally hits his idol over the costard with a club just to -preserve<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span> his own independence, he is and frankly owns himself to be a -bookish man from the crown of his head to the sole of his foot. He even -confesses he loves the country best in books; but then it must be in -real country-books and not in descriptive poetry, which, says he with -Johnsonian calmness, is for the most part ‘intolerably dull.’</p> - -<p>There is no better living representative of the great clan of sensible -men and women who delight in reading for the pleasure it gives them -than Mr. Stephen. If he is only pleased, it is quite shocking what he -will put up with, and even loudly commend.</p> - -<blockquote><p>‘We are indeed told dogmatically that a novelist should never -indulge in little asides to a reader. Why not?... I like to read -about Tom Jones or Colonel Newcome; but I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span> am also very glad when -Fielding or Thackeray puts his puppets aside for the moment and -talks to me in his own person. A child, it is true, dislikes to -have the illusion broken, and is angry if you try to persuade him -that Giant Despair was not a real personage like his favourite -Blunderbore. But the attempt to produce such illusions is really -unworthy of work intended for full-grown readers.’</p></blockquote> - -<p>Puppets indeed! It is evil and wicked treason against our Sovereign -Lady, the Art we serve, to talk of puppets. The characters of our -living Novelists live and move and have an independent being all their -very own. They are clothed in flesh and blood. They talk and jostle one -another. Where, we breathlessly inquire, do they do all or any of these -fine things? Is it in the printed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span> page? Alas! no. It is only in the -minds of their Authors, whither we cannot follow them even if we would.</p> - -<p>Mr. Stephen has great enthusiasm, which ought to reconcile us to his -discriminating judgment and occasional easterly blast. Nobody loves a -good book better than he. Whether his subject be Nathaniel Hawthorne -or Daniel De Foe, it is handled cunningly, as by a man who knows. But -his highest praise is his unbought verdict. He is his own man. He is -dominated by no prevailing taste or fashion. Even his affection does -not bias him. He yields to none in his admiration for the ‘good Sir -Walter,’ yet he writes:</p> - -<p>‘It is a question perhaps whether the firmer parts of Scott’s -reputation will be sufficiently coherent to resist after the removal of -the rubbish.’</p> - -<p>‘Rubbish.’ It is a harsh word, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span> might well make Dean Stanley -and a bygone generation of worshippers and believers in the plenary -inspiration of Scott stir uneasily in their graves. It grates upon my -own ear. But if it is a true word, what then? Why even then it does -not matter very much, for when Time, that old ravager, has done his -very worst, there will be enough left of Sir Walter to carry down his -name and fame to the remotest age. He cannot be ejected from his native -land. Loch Katrine and Loch Leven are not exposed to criticism, and -they will pull Sir Walter through.</p> - -<p>Mr. Stephen has another recommendation. Every now and again he goes -hopelessly wrong. This is most endearing. Must I give instances? If I -must I will, but without further note or comment. He is wrong in his -depreciation of ‘Wuthering Heights,’ and wrong, amazingly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span> wrong, in -his unaccountable partiality for ‘Henrietta Temple.’</p> - -<p>The author of ‘Hours in a Library’ belongs, it is hardly necessary -to say, to the class of writers who use their steam for the purpose -of going straight ahead. He is always greatly concerned with his -subject. If he is out fox-hunting, he comes home with the brush, and -not with a spray of blackberries; but if, on the other hand, he goes -out blackberrying, he will return deeply dyed the true tint, and not -dragging behind him a languishing coil of seaweed. Metaphors will, I -know, ultimately be my ruin, but in the meantime I hope I make myself -reasonably plain. In this honest characteristic Mr. Leslie Stephen -resembles his distinguished brother, Sir James Stephen, who, in his -admirable ‘Horæ Sabbaticæ’ (Macmillan, 3 vols.), may be discovered at -any time tearing authors into<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span> little bits and stripping them of their -fringe, and then presenting to you, in a few masterly pages, the marrow -of their arguments and the pith of their position.</p> - -<p>Much genuine merriment is, however, almost always to be extracted from -writers of this kind. Mr. Leslie Stephen’s humour, none the worse for -belonging to the sardonic species, is seldom absent from a page. It -would be both pleasant and easy to collect a number of his epigrams, -witty sayings, and humorous terms—but it is better to leave then where -they are. The judicious will find them for themselves for many a long -day to come. The sensible and truthful writers are the longest livers.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span></p> - -<h2>AMERICANISMS AND BRITICISMS.</h2> - -<p>Messrs. Harper Bros., of New York, have lately printed and published, -and Mr. Brander Matthews has written, the prettiest possible little -book, called ‘Americanisms and Briticisms, with other Essays on other -Isms.’ To slip it into your pocket when first you see it is an almost -irresistible impulse, and yet—would you believe it?—this pretty -little book is in reality a bomb, intended to go off and damage British -authors by preventing them from being so much as quoted in the States. -Mr. Brander Matthews, however, is so obviously a good-natured man, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span> -his little fit of the spleen is so evidently of a passing character, -that it is really not otherwise than agreeable to handle his bombshell -gently and to inquire how it could possibly come about that the -children of one family should ever be invited to fall out and strive -and fight over their little books and papers.</p> - -<p>It is easy to accede something to Mr. Matthews. Englishmen are often -provoking, and not infrequently insolent. The airs they give themselves -are ridiculous, but nobody really minds them in these moods; and, <i>per -contra</i>, Americans are not easily laughed out of a good conceit of -themselves, and have been known to be as disagreeable as they could.</p> - -<p>To try to make ‘an international affair’ over the ‘u’ in honour and -the second ‘l’ in traveller is surely a task beneath the dignity -of anyone<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span> who does not live by penning paragraphs for the evening -papers, yet this is very much what Mr. Matthews attempts to do in this -pleasingly-bound little volume. It is rank McKinleyism from one end -to the other. ‘Every nation,’ says he, ‘ought to be able to supply -its own second-rate books, and to borrow from abroad only the best -the foreigner has to offer it.’ What invidious distinctions! Who is -to prepare the classification? I don’t understand this Tariff at all. -If anything of the kind were true, which it is not, I should have -said it was just the other way, and that a nation, if it really were -one, would best foster its traditions and maintain its vitality by -consuming its own first-rate books—its Shakespeares and Bacons, its -Taylors and Miltons, its Drydens and Gibbons, its Wordsworths and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span> -Tennysons—whilst it might very well be glad to vary the scene a little -by borrowing from abroad less vitalizing but none the less agreeable -wares.</p> - -<p>But the whole notion is preposterous. In Fish and Potatoes a ring is -possible, but hardly in Ideas. What is the good of being educated and -laboriously acquiring foreign tongues and lingoes—getting to know, -for instance, what a ‘freight’ train is and what a bobolink—if I -am to be prevented by a diseased patriotism from reading whatever I -choose in any language I can? Mr. Matthews’ wrath, or his seeming -wrath—for it is impossible to suppose that he is really angry—grows -redder as he proceeds. ‘It cannot,’ he exclaims, ‘be said too often or -too emphatically that the British are foreigners, and their ideals in -life, in literature, in politics, in taste, in art’ (why not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span> add ‘in -victuals and drink?’) ‘are not our ideals.’</p> - -<p>What rant this is! Mr. Matthews, however frequently and loudly he -repeats himself, cannot unchain the canons of taste and compel them to -be domiciled exclusively in America; nor can he hope to persuade the -more intelligent of his countrymen to sail to the devil in an ark of -their own sole construction. Artists all the world over are subject -to the same laws. Nations, however big, are not the arbiters of good -taste, though they may be excellent exemplars of bad. As for Mr. -Matthews’ determination to call Britons foreigners, that is his matter, -but feelings of this kind, to do any harm, must be both reciprocal and -general. The majority of reasonable Englishmen and Americans will, -except when angry, feel it as hard to call one another foreigners, as -John<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span> Bright once declared he would find it hard to shout ‘bastard’ -after the issue of a marriage between a man and his deceased wife’s -sister.</p> - -<p>There is a portrait of Mr. Matthews at the beginning of this book or -bomb of his, and he does not look in the least like a foreigner. I -am sorry to disappoint him, but truth will out. The fact is that Mr. -Matthews has no mind for reciprocity; he advises Cousin Sam to have -nothing to do with John Bull’s second-rate performances, but he feels -a very pardonable pride in the fact that John Bull more and more reads -his cousin’s short stories and other things of the kind.</p> - -<p>He gives a countrywoman of his, Miss Agnes Repplier, quite a -scolding for quoting in a little book of hers no less than fifteen -British authors of very varying degrees of merit. Why, in the name -of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span> common-sense, should she not if they serve her turn? Was a -more ludicrous passage than the following ever penned? It follows -immediately after the enumeration of the fifteen authors just referred -to:</p> - -<blockquote><p>‘But there is nothing from Lowell, than whom a more quotable -writer never lived. In like manner, we find Miss Repplier -discussing the novels and characters of Miss Austen and of Scott, -of Dickens, of Thackeray, and of George Eliot, but never once -referring to the novels or characters of Hawthorne. Just how it -was possible for any clever American woman to write nine essays -in criticism, rich in references and quotations, without once -happening on Lowell or on Hawthorne, is to me inexplicable.’</p></blockquote> - -<p>O Patriotism! what follies are committed in thy name! </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span></p> - -<p>The fact is, it is a weak point in certain American writers of -‘the patriotic school’ to be for ever dragging in and puffing the -native article, just because it is native and for no other reason -whatever; as if it mattered an atom whether an author whom, whilst -you are discussing literature, you find it convenient to quote was -born in Boston, Lincoln, or Boston, Massachusetts. One wearies of it -indescribably. It is always Professor This or Colonel That. If you want -to quote, quote and let your reader judge your samples; but do not -worry him into rudeness by clawing and scraping.</p> - -<p>Here we all are, Heaven knows how many million of us, speaking, writing -and spelling the English language more or less ungrammatically in a -world as full as it can hold of sorrows and cares, and fustian and -folly. Literature is a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span> solace and a charm. I will not stop for a -moment in my headlong course to compare it with tobacco; though if it -ever came to the vote, mine would be cast for letters. Men and women -have been born in America, as in Great Britain and Ireland, who have -written books, poems, and songs which have lightened sorrow, eased -pain, made childhood fascinating, middle-age endurable, and old age -comfortable. They will go on being born and doing this in both places. -What reader cares a snap of his finger where the man was cradled who -makes him for awhile forget himself. Nationality indeed! It is not a -question of Puffendorf or Grotius or Wheaton, even in the American -edition with Mr. Dana’s notes, but of enjoyment, of happiness, out of -which we do not intend to be fleeced. Let us throw all our books into<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span> -hotch-pot. Who cares about spelling? Milton spelt ‘dog’ with two g’s. -The American Milton, when he comes, may spell it with three, while all -the world wonders, if he is so minded.</p> - -<p>But we are already in hotch-pot. Cooper and Irving, Longfellow, Bryant -and Poe, Hawthorne, Lowell, and Whitman, and living writers by the -score from the other side of the sea, are indistinguishably mixed with -our own books and authors. The boundaries are hopelessly confused, and -it is far too late for Mr. Brander Matthews to come upon the scene with -chalk and tape, and try to mark us off into rival camps.</p> - -<p>There is some girding and gibing, of course. Authors and critics -cannot help nagging at one another. Some affect the grand air, ‘assume -the god,’ and attempt to distinguish, as Mr. Matthews himself does -in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span> this little book of his, ‘between the authors who are not to be -taken seriously, between the man of letters who is somebody and the -scribbler who is merely, in the French phrase, <i>quelconque</i>, nobody in -particular.’ Others, again, though leading quiet, decent lives, pass -themselves off in literature as swaggering Bohemians, cut-and-thrust -men. When these meet there must be blows—pen-and-ink blows, as -bloodless as a French duel. All the time the stream of events flows -gigantically along. But to the end of all things Man will require to -be interested, to be taken out of himself, to be amused; and that -interest, that zest, that amusement, he will find where he can—at home -or abroad, with alien friends or alien enemies: what cares he?</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span></p> - -<h2>AUTHORS AND CRITICS.</h2> - -<p>At the gracious Christmas season of the year we are reminded by -nearly every post of our duty towards our neighbours, meaning thereby -not merely those who live within what Wordsworth, with greater -familiarity than precision, has defined as ‘an easy walk,’ but, -with few exceptions, mainly of a party character, all mankind. The -once wide boundaries of an Englishman’s sphere of hatred are sorely -circumscribed. We are now expected not only to love all peoples, which -in theory is easy enough, particularly if we are no great travellers, -but to read their publications in translations<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span> unverified by -affidavit, which in practice is very hard. Yet if we do not do it, we -are Chauvinists, which has a horrid sound.</p> - -<p>Much is now expected of a man. Even in his leisure hours, when his feet -are on the hob, he must be zealous in some cause, say Realism; serious, -as he reflects upon the interests of literature and the position of -authors; and, above all and hardest of all, he must be sympathetic. -Irony he should eschew, and levity, but disquisitions on duty are never -out of place.</p> - -<p>This disposition of mind, however praiseworthy, makes the aspect of -things heavy, and yet this is the very moment selected by certain -novelists, playwrights, and irresponsible persons of that kind, to whom -we have been long accustomed to look for relaxation, to begin prating, -not of their duty to please us, but of our<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span> duty to appreciate them. -It appears that we owe a duty to our contemporaries who write, which -is not merely passive, that is, to abstain from slandering them, but -active, namely, to read and admire them.</p> - -<p>The authors who grumble and explain the merits of their own things are -not the denizens of Grub Street, or those poor neglected souls to one -of whom Mr. Alfred Austin lately addressed these consolatory words:</p> - -<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div>‘Friend, be not fretful if the voice of fame,</div> -<div class="i1">Along the narrow way of hurrying men,</div> -<div class="i1">Where unto echo echo shouts again,</div> -<div>Be all day long not noisy with your name.’</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>No; it is the shouted authors who are most discontented; the men who -have best availed themselves of all the resources of civilization, who -belong to syndicates, employ agents, have a price-current, and know -what it is to be paid half a dozen times over for the same thing. Even -the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span> prospect of American copyright and taxing all the intelligence -of a reading Republic—even this does not satisfy them. They want to -be classics in their own lifetime, and to be spoken and written of as -if they were already embalmed in the memory of a grateful nation. To -speak or write lightly of departed genius is offensive, but people -who have the luck to be alive must not expect to be taken quite so -seriously. But they do. Everything is taken seriously in these grim -days, even short stories. There is said to be a demand for short -stories, begotten, amongst many other things, by that reckless parent, -the Spirit of the Age. There is no such demand. The one and only -demand poor wearied humanity has ever made, or will ever make, of the -story-teller, be he as long-winded as Richardson or as breathless -as Kipling, is to be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span> made self-forgetful for a season. Interest me -somehow, anyhow; make me mindless of the room I am sitting in, of the -people about me; soothe me, excite me, tickle me, make me better, -make me worse; do what you like with me, only make it possible for me -to keep reading on, and a joy to do so. This is our demand. There is -nothing unreasonable in it. It is matter of experience. Authors have -done all this for us, and are doing it to-day. It is their trade, and a -glorious one.</p> - -<p>But the only thing that concerns the reader is the book he holds in -his hand. He cannot derive inspiration from any other quarter. To the -author the characters may be living, he may have lived amongst them for -months; they may be inexpressibly dear to him, and his fine eyes may -fill with tears as he thinks of Jane or Sarah, but this avails<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span> naught -to the reader. Our authors are too apt to forget this, and to tell us -what they think of their own figments, and how they came to write their -books. The imitation of Carlyle cannot be generally recommended, but in -one respect, at all events, his example should be followed. Though he -made fuss enough whilst he was writing a book, as soon as he had done -with it he never mentioned it again.</p> - -<p>This sudden display of nervousness on the part of authors is perhaps -partly due to their unreasonable confusion of the Reviewers with the -Readers. The great mass of criticism is, delivered <i>vivâ voce</i>, and -never appears in print at all. This spoken criticism is of far greater -importance than printed criticism. It is repeated again and again, in -all sorts of places, on hundreds of occasions, and cannot fail to make -dints in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span> people’s minds, whereas the current printed criticism of the -week runs lightly off the surface. ‘Press notices,’ as they are called, -have no longer ‘boodle’ in them, if I may use a word the genius of Mr. -Stevenson has already consecrated for all delightful use. The pen may, -in peaceful times, be mightier than the sword, but in this matter of -criticism of our contemporaries the tongue is mightier than the pen. -Authors should remember this.</p> - -<p>The volume of unprinted criticism is immense, and its force amazing. -Lunching last year at a chophouse, I was startled to hear a really -important oath emerge from the lips of a clerkly-looking man who -sat opposite me, and before whom the hurried waiter had placed a -chump-chop. ‘Take the thing away,’ cried the man with the oath -aforesaid, ‘and bring me a loin chop.’ Then, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span>observing the surprise I -could not conceal that an occurrence so trifling should have evoked an -expression so forcible, the man muttered half to himself and half to -me: ‘There is nothing I hate so much in the wide world as a chump-chop, -unless indeed it be’ (speaking slowly and thoughtfully) ‘the poetry of -Mr. ——,’ and here the fellow, unabashed, named right out the name of -a living poet who, in the horrid phrase of the second-hand booksellers, -is ‘much esteemed’ by himself, and some others. After this explosion -of feeling the conversation between us became frankly literary, but I -contrived to learn in the course of it that this chump-chop-hater was a -clerk in an insurance office, and had never printed a line in his life. -He was, as sufficiently appears, a whimsical fellow, full of strange -oaths and stranger prejudice, but for criticism of contemporary<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span> -authors—keen, searching, detached, genuine—it would be impossible -to find his equal in the Press. The man is living yet—he was lately -seen in Cheapside, elbowing his way through the crowd with a masterful -air, and so long as he lives he criticises, and what is more, permeates -his circle—for he must live somewhere—with his opinions. These are -your gods, O Authors! It is these voices which swell the real chorus -of praise or blame. These judges are untainted by hatreds, strangers -to jealousy; your vanity, your egotism, your necktie, your anecdotes, -do not prevent <i>them</i> from enjoying your books or revelling in your -humour, be it new or old, for they do not know you by sight; but -neither will the praise of the <i>Athenæum</i>, or of any newspaper, or the -conventional respect of other authors save your productions, your poem, -your<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span> novel, your drama, your collected trifles, from the shafts of -their ridicule or the dust of their indifference.</p> - -<p>But do we owe any duty to contemporary authors? Clearly we are at -liberty to talk about them and their ‘work’ as much as ever we -choose—at dinner-tables, in libraries and smoking-rooms, in railway -carriages (if we like shouting and do not mind being inaudible), in -boats, at balls, in Courts of Justice, and other places, <i>ejusdem -generis</i>, at Congresses (before, during, and after the speeches), -and, indeed, everywhere and at all times, if we are so disposed and -can find anybody to listen, or even to seem to listen, to us. Of this -liberty we can never be deprived even by a veto of authors <i>ad hoc</i>, -and, as already stated, the free exercise of it is a far more important -constituent in the manufacture of literary opinion than printed notices -of books. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span></p> - -<p>But though we are just as much entitled to express in conversation our -delight in, or abhorrence of, a contemporary author as we are to bless -or curse the weather, it cannot be said to be our duty to do so. No -adult stands in a fiduciary relationship to another adult in the matter -of his reading. If we like a book very much, it is only natural to say -so; but if we do not like it, we may say so or hold our tongues as we -choose.</p> - -<p>Suppose one dreamt (gentle reader, remember this is nothing but a -dream) that there was one woebegone creature alive at this moment in -this Britain of ours who cordially disliked, and shrank from, the -poetry of Sir Edwin Arnold, Mr. Lewis Morris, and Mr. Alfred Austin, -who could not away with ‘Robert Elsmere,’ ‘The Wages of Sin,’ or -‘Donovan,’ who abhorred the writings of Mrs. Lynn Linton, Archdeacon<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span> -Farrar, and Mr. Shorthouse, who hated ‘Amiel’s Journal,’ ‘Marie -Bashkirtseff,’ and ‘Little Lord Fauntleroy,’ who found it easy, and -even helpful, to live for six months at a time without reading a new -novel by Mr. Hall Caine or Mr. Black, who failed to respond to the -careful and often-repeated raptures of those wise critics who assured -him that the author of ‘Amos Barton’ and ‘Middlemarch’ cowers and -crouches by the side of Mr. Hardy and Mr. Meredith; who, when he wants -to laugh very heartily indeed, does not take down the works of—— But -my list is long enough for a dream—could you honestly advise that -man to run amuck in print against all these powerful and delightful -writers? What good could come of it? The good people who like a writer -will not like him or her any the less because you don’t. Reading is -a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span> democratic pursuit, else why are children taught it—very badly, -no doubt—out of the rates? Sensible men and foolish men alike resent -being dictated to about their contemporaries. They are willing to learn -about the dead, but they crave leave to lay their own hands upon the -living.</p> - -<p>‘Who set you up as a judge over us?’ they cry testily, when they are -told by a perfect stranger that they ought not to like what they do -like, and ought to like what they go to sleep over.</p> - -<p>Schopenhauer, a man who hated much, in his ‘Parerga,’ fervently desires -a literary journal which ‘should be a dam against the unconscionable -scribbling of the age, the everlasting deluge of bad and useless books.’</p> - -<p>He proceeds (I am quoting from Mr. Saunders’ translation): </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span></p> - -<p>‘If there were such a paper as I mean, every bad writer, every -brainless compiler, every plagiarist from others’ books, every hollow -and incapable place-hunter, every sham philosopher, every vain and -languishing poetaster, would shudder at the prospect of the pillory -in which his bad work would inevitably have to stand soon after -publication.’</p> - -<p>It is an animated passage, and reeks of the shambles. How awkward for -poor so-and-so! one murmurs whilst reading. But even were the thing -possible, I demur to the ferocity. There is no need to be so angry. -A dishonest and lazy plumber does more harm in a week than all the -poetasters of the Christian era. But the thing is not possible, as the -robust sense of Schopenhauer made plain to him. He goes on:</p> - -<p>‘The ideal journal could, to be sure, be written only by people who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span> -joined incorruptible honesty with rare knowledge and still rarer power -of judgment, so that, perhaps, there could, at the very most, be one, -<i>and even hardly one</i>, in the whole country; but there it would stand, -like a just Areopagus, every member of which would have to be elected -by all the others.’</p> - -<p>Who, I wonder, would elect the first member of this just Ruin? He -would, I suppose, be nominated by the subscribers of the necessary -capital, and would then proceed to gather round him, were his terms -better than his quarters, the gang we all know so well, incorruptible -as Robespierre, not quite so learned as Selden, and with powers of -judgment which can only be described as varying.</p> - -<p>It is of course obvious that no journal, be its contributors who they -may, can exercise criminal <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span>jurisdiction over bad or stupid authors. -The hue and cry has before now been raised at the heels of a popular -author, but always to the great enrichment of the rascal. The reading -community owes no allegiance, and pays no obedience, to the critical -journals, who, if they really want to injure an author, and deprive him -of his little meed of contemporary praise and profit, should leave him -severely alone. To refer to him is to advertise him.</p> - -<p>The principles of taste, the art of criticism, are not acquired amidst -the hurly-burly of living authors and the hasty judgments thereupon -of hasty critics, but by the study, careful and reverential, of the -immortal dead. In this study the critics are of immense use to us. -Dryden, Addison, Gray, Coleridge, Lamb, Hazlitt, Bagehot, Swinburne, -reveal to us their highest critical powers not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span> whilst vivisecting a -contemporary, but when expounding the anatomy of departed greatness.</p> - -<p>Teach me rightly to admire Milton and Keats, and I will find my own -criticism of living poets. Help me to enjoy, however feebly, Homer and -Dante, and I will promise not to lose my head over Pollok’s ‘Course of -Time,’ or Mr. Bailey’s ‘Festus.’ Fire my enthusiasm for Henry Vaughan -and George Herbert, and I shall be able to distinguish between the -muses of Miss Frances Ridley Havergal and of Miss Christina Rossetti. -Train me to become a citizen of the true Republic of Letters, and I -shall not be found on my knees before false gods, or trooping with the -vulgar to crown with laurel brazen brows.</p> - -<p>In conclusion, one may say that though authors cannot be expected to -love their critics, they might do<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span> well to remember that it is not the -critics who print, but the reading community whose judgments determine -an author’s place amongst contemporary writers. It may be annoying to -be sneered at by an anonymous critic in the <i>Saturday Review</i>, but it -is quite as bad to be sneered at by a stranger in a railway carriage. -The printed sneer may be read by more people than overheard the spoken -sneer; but printed sneers are not easily transferred from writer to -reader in their original malice. One may enjoy a sneer without sneering.</p> - -<p>Authors may also advantageously remember that we live in hurried -times, and enjoy scanty leisure for reading, and that of necessity -the greater fraction of that leisure belongs to the dead. Merely a -nodding acquaintance with Shakespeare is not maintained without a -considerable expenditure of time.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span> The volumes with which every man of -ordinary literary taste would wish to be familiar can only be numbered -by thousands. We must therefore be allowed time, and there is always -plenty. Every good poem, novel, play, at once joins and becomes part -and parcel of the permanent stock of English literature, and some time -or another will be read and criticised. It is quite safe. Every author -of spirit repudiates with lofty scorn the notion that he writes in -obedience to any mandate from the public. It is the wretched, degraded -politician whose talk is of mandates; authors know nothing of mandates, -they have missions. But if so, they must be content to bide their time. -If a town does turn out to meet a missionary, it is usually not with -loud applause, but with large stones.</p> - -<p>As for the critics, the majority of them no doubt only do what they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span> -are told. It is a thousand pities the habit of reviewing so many new -books in the literary papers has become general. It is a trade thing. -Were a literary paper to have no advertising columns, do you suppose -it would review half the new books it does? Certainly not. It gets -the books, and it gets the advertisements, and then it does the best -it can for itself and its readers by distributing the former amongst -its contributors with the request that they will make as lively ‘copy’ -as they can out of the materials thus provided them. The reviews are -written and printed; then begins the wail of the author: My reviewer, -says he, has not done me justice; his object appears to have been, -not to show me off, but himself. There is no sober exposition of <i>my</i> -plan, <i>my</i> purpose, <i>my</i> book, but only a parade of the reviewer’s -own reading and a <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span>crackling of his thorns under my pot. The author’s -complaint is usually just, but he should remember that in nine cases -out of ten his book calls for no review, and certainly would receive -none on its merits. The review is not written for those who have read -or intend to read the book, but for a crowd of people who do not mean -to read it, but who want to be amused or interested by a so-called -review of it, which must therefore be an independent, substantive -literary production.</p> - -<p>What a mercy it would be if the critical journals felt themselves -free to choose their own subjects, new and old, and recognised that -it was their duty to help to form the taste of their readers, and not -merely to pick their provender for them or to promote the prosperity of -publishers, which, as a matter of fact, they can no longer do. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span></p> - -<p>The critics who criticise in print, were they left to themselves, -would be found praising enthusiastically all they found praiseworthy -in contemporary effort. Even now, when their tempers must be sorely -tried by the dreary wilderness in which they are compelled to sojourn, -it is marvellous how quick they are to snuff the fresh, blowing airs -of genuine talent. It is slander to say that present-day critics are -grudging of praise. They are far too free with it. Had they less -hack-work, they might by chance become a little more fastidious; but -even if this were so, it would only increase their joy, delight, and -satisfaction in making the discovery that somebody or another—some -Stevenson, some Barrie, some Kipling—had actually written something -which was not only in form but in fact a new book.</p> - -<p>Fiery souls there would no doubt<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span> always be who would insist, on -occasions, in rushing out to strike the shield of some many-editioned -living author, and defy him to mortal combat. An occasional fray of -the kind is always an agreeable incident, but a wise editor would do -his best to control the noble rage of his contributors, bidding them -remember the words of John Keats: ‘The sure way, Bailey, is first to -know a man’s faults, and then be passive.’</p> - -<p>The time and space liberated by giving up the so-called criticism of -bad and insignificant books could be devoted to the real criticism -of the few living and the many dead classics; and, for one does -occasionally get a little weary of the grand style, with arguments -and discussions about smaller folk. If basting there must be, let it -be the basting of the brainless compilers, the plagiarists, the sham -philosophers, and the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span>languishing poetasters of the past. Dead donkeys -are far more amusing than living ones, and make much better texts for -fierce critics than men with wives and families dependent upon them. -The vagaries of great authors have often done harm in their generation; -the follies of small ones, including the supreme and most visible of -all their follies, that of thinking themselves great, have never harmed -a human creature.</p> - -<p class="center space-above"><i>Elliot Stock, Paternoster Row, London.</i></p> - -<p> </p> -<p> </p> -<hr class="pgx" /> -<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MEN, WOMEN, AND BOOKS***</p> -<p>******* This file should be named 64985-h.htm or 64985-h.zip *******</p> -<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> -<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/6/4/9/8/64985">http://www.gutenberg.org/6/4/9/8/64985</a></p> -<p> -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed.</p> - -<p>Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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