&tate College of Agriculture Sit Cornell ^ntber Kttp 3t|)ata. A. 9. Hibvavp Cornell University Library PE 1417.B7 Studies in structure and style(based on 3 1924 014 450 674 The original of tliis book is in tlie Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924014450674 STUDIES IN STRUCTURE AND STYLE EXERCISES IN RHETORIC AND ENGLISH COM- POSITION. For High Schools and Academies. By Prof. G. R. Carpenter. EXERCISES IN RHETORIC AND ENGLISH COM- POSITION. Advanced Course. By PROF. G. R. Carpenter. STUDIES IN STRUCTURE AND STYLE. By W. T. Brewster. With an Introduction by Prof. G. R. Carpenter. STUDIES STRUCTURE AND STYLE (BASED ON SEVEN MODERN ENGLISH ESSAYS) BY W. T. BREWSTER, A.M. Tutor in Rhetoric and English Composition in Columbia University WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY G. R. CARPENTER, A.B. Professor of Rhetoric and English Composition in Columbia University Weto go* THE MACMILLAN COMPANY LONDON : MACMILLAN & CO., LTD. 1903 All rights reserved Copyright, 1896, By MACMILLAN AND CO. Set up and electrotyped May, 1896. Reprinted July, 1897; September, 1899 ; February, 1902; June, 1903. NariDoati IPress J. S. Gushing ft Co. — Berwick 81 Smith Norwood MaBB. U.S.A. PREFACE This book is intended to supplement the study of the principles of Rhetoric by a systematic analysis of several pieces of modern English prose. It may be used in con- nection with any standard text-book on Rhetoric, but is specially designed to follow Professor Carpenter's Exercises in Rhetoric and English Composition (Macmillan), the ter- minology of which has, to some extent, been adopted, and to which many references have been made. The present volume furnishes a basis for the work which frequently comes in the second half of the Freshman year in college, and is introductory to the detailed study of the methods of composition which is often carried on in the Sophomore year; but it may also be used in schools and academies, especially by such students as do not purpose to pursue a college course. The essays have been carefully chosen with the following ends in view: (i) that they should, so far as possible, be complete essays or chapters, not mere selections ; (2) that they should be good literature; (3) that they should be modern pieces, interesting to the student, and suitable as models. In the selection I have excluded fiction and poetry ; and have arranged the pieces in the order of complexity vi Preface and, when possible, of contrast, and have presented them with only such changes as uniformity in the use of quotation marks and italics demanded. In annotating the^ selections, I have placed at the bottom of the page whatever information has seemed to me neces- sary to a clear understanding of the text. The method of study is indicated in the notes at the end of the volume. There are two complete sets of these. The notes on structure are by far the more important, and I have treated them with much fulness. My aim has been to suggest general principles, and to allow the student to carry out the work of analysis for himself. For the sake of a more com- plete treatment of the subject, the suggestions for the study of structure and style and the lists of references have been added. W. T. B. Columbia University, March 21, 1896. TABLE OF CONTENTS Introduction , Selections : — I. J. A. Froude : The Defeat of the Spanish Armada ... i II. R.L.Stevenson: Personal Experience and Review ... 49 III. John Morley: Macaulay 65 IV. Matthew Arnold : On the Study of Celtic Literature . . . 107 V. James Bryce: The Strength of American Democracy . . . 133 VI. JohnRuskin: The Crown of Wild Olive 154 VII. J.H.Newman: What is a University? 172 Notes on Structure: — I. The Defeat of the Spanish Armada l8g II. Personal Experience and Review 205 III. Macaulay 210 IV. On the Study of Celtic Literature 223 V. The Strength of American Democracy 235 VI. The Crtmin of Wild Olive 239 VII. What is a University ? 240 General Questions on Structure 241 Bibliography of Structure 243 vii viii Table of Contents PAGE Notes on Style 245 I. The Defeat of the Spanish Armada 246 II. Personal Experience and Review 254 III. Macaulay 259 IV. On the Study of Celtic Literature 266 V. The Strength of American Democracy 269 VI. The Crown of Wild Olive 271 VII. What is a University ? 276 General Suggestions for the Study of Style 279 Bibliography of Style 279 INTRODUCTION After many years of experiment in adapting the older system of rhetorical training to the changed circumstances of modern American life, the main principles underlying the study of Rhetoric and English composition in schools and colleges seem at last to be fairly determined and accepted. These principles concern the place of the study of composi- tion in our system of education and the method by which it is to be conducted. English composition, we are agreed, is a study which must begin early in the course of a child's training, in the form of simple grammatical instruction and of practice in writing; the development of the power of expression must be regarded as of primary importance ; the pupil must not be crammed with knowledge in the form of rules and exceptions, but rather led gently though firmly, by divers ways and means, to acquire (perhaps without know- ing how he has acquired it) the power of expressing himself simply and clearly, in accordance with the accepted con- ventions of grammar and idiom. This accordance with the accepted conventions of grammar and idiom — correctness : — is the main aim of secondary school instruction in composition. In the last years of high school or the first years of col- lege work, the student has before him a harder task. He must begin a more serious and philosophic study of Rhetoric X Introduction in its chief forms, mastering the theory of English writing, so far as a definite theory exists in regard to it, and training himself, by reading and practice, in the appreciation of liter- ature and in the power of producing sound, sensible, and, indeed, beautiful compositions of his own, so far as his genius or his ambition may permit him. The first step in this more serious and philosophic study of the art of Rhetoric is the examination and analysis of the more important theories in regard to English prose — the principles relating to the choice and use of words and to the chief types of the English sen- tence and the English paragraph. This ground is covered by the ordinary text-book of Rhetoric, and this study, dry though it must always be, suppUes even the hstless student with knowledge which he will appreciate the value of in later life, and a training which is an important part of his early education. The ordinary text-book in Rhetoric, however, which may be mastered in a single term or a single year, leaves the student only at the threshold of the subject. He is familiar with the conventions of a rhetorical system ; but he has still to test his system, to convince himself that such conventions are really important, really fundamental. It is at this stage that the study of Rhetoric may well change its point of view, taking the form of a careful analysis of the essential characteristics of typical passages of English prose. Here the student may profit doubly — by the results of his rhetor- ical analysis, and, probably the larger gain, by familiarity with good prose and by conscious or unconscious imitation of its best qualities. Introduction xi From such an analysis of so-called " models " of prose two advantages may be derived — an increased knowledge and appreciation of structure, and an increased knowledge and appreciation of style. Of these the former is the more important. Indeed, the appreciation of order in the ex- pression of thought, and the power of expressing thought in an orderly fashion, is not only the chief lesson that Rhetoric can teach, but one of the greatest lessons that the college student can learn. Disciphne of thought, order of thought — that is the fundamental point in any education. The study of structure is, moreover, especially important for young students of composition, because modern notions of Uterature and of style have tended too much to obscure the somewhat prosaic truth that a sensible writer usually strives above all else to present certain ideas in a clear and effective manner, and that this aim makes him careful to choose, in the arrangemeat and presentation of his thoughts, a certain method, by close attention to which a reader will profit. Far from profiting, however, by the close follow- ing of an author's line of thought, the boy of to-day is too apt to assume that a writer has no method, no line of thought. As a preventive of this current fallacy, no practice can be more strongly recommended than the study of what I like to call " structure." Style is obviously a less tangible thing than structure and, unless from simple points of view, perhaps too subtle and elusive a quality for the young student to submit to much analysis. Here the teacher may easily go too far, with the effect of encouraging a habit of over-analysis or of extreme xii Introduction artificiality on the part of the young writer. It seems wiser to defer any detailed treatment of style as one of the fine arts to the later years of college work. Such simple exercises as are indicated in the following pages may, however, be carried on with profit to the pupil, and without fear of injury. He will learn to feel that there is something more in style than mere " mechanology," something more than mechanical adjustments of word to word and phrase to phrase. He will recognize those elements of style which are most akin to music — the balance, rhythm, and harmony which give liter- ature much of its beauty, and which one must learn as a boy to appreciate if he would treasure it throughout his life as a source of enjoyment and stimulus. G. R. Carpenter. SatttES ^nti)on2 iFrouUe Born i8i8. Died 1894 THE DEFEAT OF THE SPANISH ARMADA [The following selection is taken from Chapter XXXVI. of the History of England from the Fall of Wolsey to the Defeat of the Spanish Armada, written between the years 1856 and 1869. The text is that of the first edition. Though the passage here printed appears without abridg- ment, much of the narrative preceding and following the account of the battle in the Channel and off Calais, is of neces- sity omitted. The extract, however, is in itself so complete that little introduction is necessary. What precedes deals with the preparations of the English to receive the Armada, the uncer- tainty and alarm in the country, the vacillating policy of the Queen, and the constancy of the admirals in the face of a policy which allowed a comparatively small number of small ships to take the sea ill-supplied with food, and with sailors half- starved, against a force double their strength. What follows takes up the niggardly treatment which the sailors and even the admirals received on their return from the chase of the Armada ; and the chapter closes with a long and detailed account of the sufferings of the Spanish in the autumn voyage round the rocky headlands of Scotland, in which no less than seventy vessels and twenty thousand lives were lost.j I. Meanwhile, the slow, lingering, long expected Armada was at last really approaching. Lisbon through the spring months had been a scene of extraordinary confusion. Three nations, Spanish, 2 James Anthony Froude Italian, and Portuguese, had furnished their several contingents. The Spaniards themselves not wholly- moulded into unity — Galicians, Andalusians, Cata- lans, Castilians, were divided into squadrons, imper- s fectly understanding each other, and separated by hereditary feuds. The hidalgos from Valladolid and Burgos, ardent and enthusiastic volunteers, lay in their tents surrounded by their servants. Portuguese and Castilian peasants, not so enthusiastic, and im- lo pressed from their farms to serve, were kept in gangs under guard, lest they should run away. Six differ- ent languages were spoken among Philip's own free subjects, and besides these, there was a motley com- pany from every corner of the known world — galley IS slaves from Constantinople and Algiers, Jesuits from Rheims, exiled priests, Irish and English, gathering like ravens to the spoil of the heretics. Lord Bal- tinglass was there from the Wicklow hills; Lord Maxwell, turned now into Earl of Morton, from the 20 Scotch borders; Caley O'Connor, a distinguished " murderer," " who could speak nothing but his own tongue ; " and Maurice Fitzgerald,^ dreaming of the Desmond coronet; with many a young Scotch and English gentleman besides, who had listened too as ardently to the preaching of Campian and Holt. The faithful of all countries had rushed together, as at the call of an archangel, to take part in the great battle for the cause of God and the Church. 1 Son of Sir James Fitzgerald, who was killed in the woods of Mal- low. — Froude, The Defeat of the Spanish Armada 3 II. Among these elements Medina Sidonia^kept such order as he could, his chief difficulty being to prevent Spaniards and Portuguese from breaking each other's heads upon the quays. At length the weary preparations were completed; 5 the galleons were equipped for sea, the stores laid in, the soldiers, sailors, and volunteers all embarked. On the fleet itself the treasures of the Indian mines had for three years been freely lavished. In the six squadrons there were sixty-five large ships ; the 10 smallest of them was of seven hundred tons ; seven were over a thousand, and the largest. La Regazona, an Italian, was thirteen hundred. They were all " built high like castles," their upper works musket proof, their main timbers " four and five feet thick," is of a strength it was fondly supposed which no English cannon could pierce. As a symbol of the service on which they were going, and to se- cure the guardianship of Heaven, they had been baptized after the celestial hierarchy. The names 20 on both sides, either by accident or purpose, cor- responded to the character of the struggle ; the St. Matthew, the St. Philip, the St. James, the St. John, the St. Martin, and the Lady of the Rosary, were coming to encounter the Victory, the Revenge, 25 the Dreadnought, the Bear, the Lion, and the Bull : dreams were ranged against realities, fic- tion against fact, and imaginary supernatural pat- 2 The Duke of Medina Sidonia was commander-in-chief of the expedition. 4 James Anthony Froude ronage against mere human courage, strength, and determination.^ III. Next to the galleons, were four galleasses, gigantic galleys, carrying each of them fifty guns, s four hundred and fifty soldiers and sailors, and rowed by three hundred slaves. In addition to these, were foUr large galleys, fifty-six armed mer- chant vessels, the best that Spain possessed, and twenty caravels or pinnaces attached to the larger lo ships. IV. The fighting fleet, or Armada proper, thus consisted of a hundred and twenty-nine vessels, seven of them larger than the Triumph, and the smallest of the sixty-five galleons of larger tonnage IS than the finest ship in the English, navy, except the five* which had been last added to it. The aggregate of cannon was two thousand four hundred and thirty. They were brass and iron of various sizes, the finest that the Spanish foundries could 20 produce. The weight of metal which they were able to throw exceeded enormously the power of the English broadsides. In compensation, however, and making up fortunately for the imperfect pro- vision allowed by Elizabeth, the supply of cartridges 2s was singularly small.^ The King probably calcu- * I owe this observation to Mr. Motley. — Froude. * " The Arlc Raleigh and the Victory of eight hundred tons, the Bear and the Elizabeth Jonas of nine hundred, and the Triumph of a thou- sand." — Froude, Ch. xxxvi. 6 "Los dichos navios van armados con 2,431 pie^as de artilleria 1,497 ^^ bronce de todos calibros y entre ellas muchos canones y medias The Defeat of the Spanish Armada 5 lated that a single action would decide the struggle, and it amounted to but fifty rounds for each gun. V. The store of provisions was enormous. It was intended for the army after it landed in England, and was sufficient to feed forty thousand men for s six months. The powder and lead for small arms was also infinite. The complement of sailors was moderate considering the size and the number of the ships — all told they amounted to no more than eight thousand. The disposable space was proba- 10 bly required for the land force which was going to Parma's® assistance. Of soldiers, Castilian and Por- tuguese, there were nineteen thousand ; of gentlemen volunteers a thousand ; six hundred priests, servants, strangers, and miscellaneous officers ; and two thou- 15 sand men, besides, of not sufficient importance to be described particularly in the Spanish records, consist- ing of Turks, Jews, Algerines, or heretic Dutchmen, who rowed as slaves in the galleys and galleasses.^ culebrinas y las 934 de hierro colado . . . para la dicha artilleria se llevan 123,790 balas." — ^ Legajos De Guerra, 221 : MSS. Simancas. — Froude. [Translation: "These vessels were armed with 2431 pieces of artillery, 1497 of bronze of all calibres and among them many guns and demi-culverins and 934 of cast iron. . . . For this artillery were carried 123,790 cannon balls."] ^ The Prince of Parma lay, with the land forces of the Spanish, at Dunkirk, in extreme northeastern France, waiting till the fleet should have cleared the Channel before crossing to England. ' Much has been said of the bolts and shackles found in some of the ships that were taken. It has been assumed that they were in- tended for English heretics; in point of fact they were no more than part of the ordinary furniture of all vessels carrying slaves. — Froude. 6 James Anthony Froude VI. Medina Sidonia had been recommended to the command in chief by his rank, and by his con- nection with the Princess of Eboli ; but immediately under him were the ablest officers in Philip's domin- s ions. Martinez de Recalde, Governor of Galicia and Vice-Admiral, was said to be the best seaman that Spain possessed next to Santa Cruz. Pedro de Valdez, general of the squadron of Andalusia, had commanded the Spanish fleet on the coast of Hol- lo land, when Don John was in the Netherlands, and knew the English Channel well. Miguel de Oquendo, who had the squadron of Guipiscoa, was a Spanish Philip Sidney, a young chivalrous noble- man of distinguished promise, who, a month before 15 the fleet sailed, had obtained from the King a reluctant permission to take part in the expedition. Among the other names of interest in the list of officers was that of Hugh de Mon9ada, chief of the galleasses, made remarkable by the fate which 20 overtook him ; that of Diego de Pimentel, afterwards Viceroy of Mexico; and more particularly that of the brilliant Don Alonzo da Leyva, who commanded the land forces. Born of a family who had for several generations been the terror of the Mediter- 2S ranean corsairs, Don Alonzo had won his spurs as a boy in the last revolt of the Moors. Afterwards he had himself formed and led a company of Spanish lancers, who fought at Gemblours under Don John of Austria, and on Don John's death he was re- 30 moved from the Netherlands, and put at the head The Defeat of the Spanish Armada 7 of the fleet which was permanently stationed at Sicily. He was so celebrated personally, and so many attractions combined in him of birth, bearing, and distinguished services, that the fathers of the high-born youths who had volunteered to accompany s the Armada, most of them committed their sons to Da Leyva's special charge. VII. The short supply of cannon cartridge was one serious deficiency. Masters of the art of war as the Spaniards believed themselves, and cheap 10 as they held English inexperience, they had not yet comprehended the exigencies of a naval engagement. Another misfortune of even greater consequence to them was the incompetency of their pilots. The time had been when Spanish seamen knew the 15 intricacies of the Channel as well as the English theniselves ; but since the capture of Flushing their ships of war had no longer any occupation left them there, and their trade had been left to the Dutch, who though in revolt, still traded with their 20 ports, supplied them with salt herrings for their fast- ing days, and had brought to Lisbon from the Baltic the hemp and tar with which the Armada itself had been fitted out. But though willing in the way of merchandise to supply the Spaniards with 25 materials of war, they had declined to furnish them with pilots, and Parma, to whom Philip wrote in his difficulty, was obliged to reply that the best sailors were heretics, and that in all the Low Countries he was unable to find more than two or three compe- 30 8 James Anthony Froude tent men whom he could bribe or force to take service with the Armada.^ All else was going well. The Pope would not indeed advance a ducat of his promised subsidy till the Spaniards were actually in s England; but he had been more compliant about the succession, promising to leave it at Philip's dis- position. He had made Allen a cardinal, with the see of Canterbury in prospect. The Duke of Man- tua had relieved Philip's money difficulties, and lo Parma's hollowed ranks were filled again with fresh recruits. The Prince had once more his thirty thousand Spaniards, Germans, Italians, and Wal- loons in his camp, and the treaty having exploded upon the cautionary towns, he no longer affected IS any kind of concealment. The quays of Nieuport and Dunkirk were thronged with hoys and barges. The cavalry horses were stabled in the towns ready to embark; the troops encamped in the immediate environs. Artillery stores, platforms, crates, pio- 2° neers' tools were already on board. The fleet at Antwerp, though unable to pass Flushing, yet suc- ceeded in keeping the Dutch in check.^ They 8 Parma to Philip, May 13: MSS. Simancas. — Froude. ' The situation is not wholly clear. The occupation by the English of Flushing, ceded to them in 1585, kept the Spaniards from sailing down the Scheldt to the sea. Since the Spanish fleet could not leave Antwerp, it would seem that the Dutch might have sailed where they chose, in front of Dunkirk or elsewhere, especially since " they were able to prevent Parma from making use of Sluys," which he had captured the year before for the express purpose of making a haven for Spanish vessels. "They " of the following sentence probably refers to the Dutch. Compare note 43. The Defeat of the Spanish Armada 9 ventured out occasionally in front of Dunkirk, but could not lie there. When the crisis actually came they had not a sail on the seas ; but they were able to prevent Parma from making use of Sluys which had cost him so dear to capture,^" and this after all 5 was as much or more than Elizabeth had a right to expect. VIII. The Armada was coming to execute the censures of the Church, and a spiritual demonstra- tion was prepared to accompany it. In addition to 1° his other dignities, the Archbishop elect of Canter- bury was named Legate for England, and he had prepared a pastoral letter which was printed in Flan- ders, to be carried over by Parma and issued at the moment of his arrival. The burden of it was an is exhortation to the faithful to rise in arms and wel- come their deliverer, and copies had been already smuggled across the Channel and distributed through the secret agencies of the Catholic missions. The style and substance resembled the epistles of Pole, 20 the prototype and example of all subsequent spiritual incendiaries. IX. The Spanish arms, the new Legate said, were not directed against his countrymen. Their sins had been many, but the retribution was to fall 25 only on the wicked Queen, on the usurping heretic Elizabeth, the bane of Christendom, and the mur- deress of the souls of her subjects. Henry VIII., 1" The Sluys barges had been carried by inland canals to Nieu- port. — Parma to Philip, June 22: MSS. Simancas. — Froude. lO James Anthony Froude tyrant as he was, had fallen short in atrocity of his infamous daughter. Vengeance was falling upon her at last. Ruin was now to overwhelm her, and the just of the earth would say, " Lo, this is she that 5 took not God for her strength, that trusted in the multitude of her riches and prevailed in her iniqui- ties, but was struck down under the hand of the Most High." He invited the English nobility, to whose swords he said the defence of the Church lo had been entrusted, to consider the character and condition of the woman whom they had called their sovereign. She was born in adultery, an offspring of incest, a declared bastard, incapable of lawfully succeeding. Her father had been excommunicated IS and deposed by the father of Christendom. Her mother's mother and her mother's sister had been his concubines. She had herself overthrown the Holy Church, profaned the sacraments, and torn God's priests from the altars in the very act of '■» celebrating the holy mysteries. She had persecuted the Catholic gentry, and suppressed the old nobility ; and had advanced churles and profligates to honour and authority. In the sees of the bishops she had installed the scum and filth of mankind, infamous, 2S lascivious, apostate heretics. She had made England a sanctuary of atheists and rebels, and vampire-like she had enriched herself and her servants by suck- ing the blood of the afflicted Catholics. Her chief favourite, whom she made use of to gratify her 30 lust, had murdered his wife, it was to be presumed. The Defeat of the Spanish Armada ii with her knowledge and consent, and had afterwards made away with the husband of another lady. Yet this man, a mere lecherous minion, she had made her principal minister of state. X. In language which is better left unquoted, s the Cardinal proceeded to describe Elizabeth per- sonally as the foulest of prostitutes and her court as the vilest of brothels. The Church, he said, in pity had chastised her offences by excommunication, but she had despised correction, and those who had lo been sent to bring her to repentance she had slain with the sword. Innocent, godly, and learned men, priests and bishops in England and Ireland had been racked, torn, chained, famished, buffeted, and at last barbarously executed; and fulfilling the measure of is her iniquities she had at length killed the anointed of God, the Lady Mary.^^ her nearest kinswoman, and by law the right owner of her crown. The exe- cution of the Church's judgment upon her had been long deferred, in part because she was too strong to 20 be overthrown by her subjects alone, without danger ' to the lives of many noble and godly persons, in part through the long-suffering and sweet and fatherly forbearance of the chief shepherd of the Church, who had persevered in hoping that she might be 23 converted from her evil ways. Seeing, however, that gentleness had availed nothing, the Holy Father had at length besought the Princes of Christendom to assist him in the chastisement of so wicked a 11 Mary, Queen of Scots, was beheaded in 1587. 12 James Anthony Fronde monster, the scourge of God, and shame of woman- kind. The Most Catholic King^ had accepted the glorious charge, and his legions were abqut to ap- pear on the English shores. 5 XI. " Me, too," the Cardinal concluded, " me, too, being of your own flesh and blood, his Holiness has been pleased to choose as his Legate, for the restor- ing of religion and the future ordering of the realm; as well for the title of the crown as for other causes lo which may fall out between the Church and the Commonwealth. His Holiness confirms and renews the sentence of his predecessors against Elizabeth. He discharges you of your oath of allegiance. He requires you in the bowels of Christ no longer to IS acknowledge her as your sovereign; and he expects all of you, according to your ability, to hold your- selves ready on the arrival of his Catholic Majesty's powers to join them. This if you do, your lands and goods will be assured to you. Therefore, my 20 lords and dear countrymen, take part one with another in this honourable quarrel. If you remain still, you will fall under the curse pronounced by the angel against the land of Meroz. You will be guilty of your own ruin, and of the blood of your 2S people. Above all, fight not for a quarrel in which, if you die, you will incur damnation. In this the hour of wrath upon Elizabeth and her partakers, fight not against the souls of your ancestors, and the salvation of your wives and children. Fight 12 Philip II., King of Spain. The Defeat of the Spanish Armada 13 rather for God's Church and the honour of Eng- land's knighthood. Fight for Christ, for religion, and for the holy sacraments of our faith. The prayers of all Christian people, the blood of the martyred bishops, friars, priests, and laymen, shed s in that your land, cry to God for your victory. The saints in heaven are interceding for you. The priests on earth stretch forth their consecrated hands night and day for you. Our Saviour himself is among you in the blessed sacrament. Fear not. 10 The enemy is falling by his own weakness. The English nation will turn from the setting sun, and follow no more the broken fortunes of a mean and filthy woman. The heretics are but few, and of all men are most effeminate, most dastardly, least cap- 15 able of war. The angel of the Lord will scatter them. Take heart. Quit yourselves like men. I shall myself soon be with you. Each day appears a year to me till I enjoy your presence in the Lord. " From my lodging in the Palace of St. Peter's at 20 Rome, "This 28th of April, 1588, "The Cardinal." 13 w Admonition to the Nobility of England, &c., by Cardinal Allen, 1588 : Abridged. The abstract iu the text gives but a feeble impression of the virulence of Allen's language. It is to be regretted that Parma, vfho knew what Elizabeth's character really was, should have sanctioned its pubUcation. He had misgivings as to the probable conduct of the Catholics, and he imagined that Allen's authority would carry weight with them. — Froude. [Froude's long quotation in Spanish of the Cardinal's words is omitted. ] 14 James Anthony Froude XII. All being thus in order, the Prince of Parma ready to embark, the paternal admonition to the English nation to commit treason prepared for cir- culation, and the last touches added to the com- 5 pleteness of the fleet in the Tagus, the Duke of Medina Sidonia sailed from Lisbon on the 19th- 29th ^* of May. The northerly breeze which pre- vails on the coast of Portugal was unusually strong. The galleons standing high out of the water, and 10 carrying small canvas in proportion to their size, worked badly to windward. They were three weeks in reaching Finisterre,^* where the wind having freshened to a gale, they were scattered, some standing out to sea, some into the Bay of Biscay. IS Their orders, in the event of such a casualty, had been to make for Ferrol.^® The wind shifting sud- denly to the west, those that had gone into the Bay could not immediately reach it, and were driven into Santander.^'^ The officers, however, were, on the 20 whole, well satisfied with the qualities which the ships had displayed. A mast or two had been sprung, a few yards and bowsprits had been carried away; but beyond loss of time there had been no serious damage. 1* The dates given throughout the selection are both old style and new style. '* A cape of northwestern Spain some three hundred miles north of Lisbon. M The main arsenal town of extreme northwestern Spain near the Atlantic Ocean and the Bay of Biscay. " A port on the Bay of Biscay some two hundred miles east of Ferrol. Here many of the survivors ran in on their return. The Defeat of the Spanish Armada 15 XIII. The weather moderating, the fleet was again collected in the Bay of Ferrol by the 6th- i6th of July. All repairs were completed by the iith-2ist, and the next day, i2th-22nd, the Armada took leave of Spain for the last time. s XIV. The scene as the fleet passed out of the harbour must have been singularly beautiful. It was a treacherous interval of real summer. The early sun was lighting the long chain of the Gali- cian mountains, marking with shadows the cleft 10 defiles, and shining softly on the white walls and vineyards of Coruna. The wind was light, and falling towards a calm ; the great galleons drifted slowly with the tide on the purple water, the long streamers trailing from the trucks, the red crosses, 15 the emblem of the crusade, shewing bright upon the hanging sails. The fruit boats were bringing off the last fresh supplies, and the pinnaces hasten- ing to the ships with the last loiterers on shore. Out of thirty thousand men who that morning stood 20 upon the decks of the proud Armada, twenty thou- sand and more were never again to see the hills of Spain. Of the remnant who in two short months crept back ragged and torn, all but a few hundred returned only to die. 25 XV. The Spaniards, though a great people, were usually over conscious of their greatness, and boasted too loudly of their fame and prowess ; but among the soldiers and sailors of the doomed expedition against England, the national vainglory was singularly silent. 30 l6 James Anthony Froude They were the flower of the country, culled and chosen over the entire Peninsula, and they were going with a modest nobility upon a service which they knew to be dangerous, but which they believed s to be peculiarly sacred. Every one, seaman, oiificer, and soldier, had confessed and communicated before he went on board. Gambling, swearing, profane language of all kinds had been peremptorily for- bidden. Private quarrels and differences had been lo made up or suspended. The loose women who accompanied Spanish armies, and sometimes Span- ish ships to sea, had been ordered away, and no unclean thing or person permitted to defile the Armada; and in every vessel, and in the whole IS fleet, the strictest order was prescribed and ob- served. Medina Sidonia led the way in the San Martin, showing lights at night, and firing guns when the weather was hazy. Mount's Bay was to be the next place of rendezvous if they were again 20 separated.!^ XVI. On the first evening the wind dropped to a calm. The morning after, the I3th-23rd, a fair fresh breeze came up from the south and south- west ; the ships ran flowingly before it ; and in two 35 days and nights they had crossed the bay, and were off Ushant.i* The fastest of the pinnaces was dis- 18 Orders to the fleet of Spain by the Duke of Medina Sidonia: MSS. Domestic, 1588. — Froude. 1' An island a few miles off the extreme northwestern coast of Brit- tany, at the entrance of the English Channel. The Defeat of the Spanish Armada 17 patched from thence to Parma, with a letter bidding him expect the Duke's immediate coming-^" XVII. But they had now entered the latitude of storms which through the whole season had raged round the English shore. The same night a south- s west gale overtook them. They lay-to, not daring to run further. The four galleys unable to keep the sea were driven in upon the French coast, and wrecked. The Santa Ana, a galleon of eight hundred tons, went down, carrying with her ninety seamen, three 10 hundred soldiers, and fifty thousand ducats in gold.^^ The weather was believed to be under the peculiar care of God, and this first misfortune was of evil omen for the future. The storm lasted two days, and then the sky cleared, and again gathering into 15 order they proceeded on their way. On the 19th- 29th they were in the mouth of the Channel. At daybreak on the morning of the 20th-30th the Lizard ^^ was under their lee, and an English fishing- boat was hanging near them, counting their num- 2a bers. They gave chase; but the boat shot away 2" " Cartas del Duque de Medina, 25 Julio " : MSS. Simancas. — Froude. 2' " Relacion de lo suecedido a la Real Armada, etc., dada por el Contador Pedro Coco Calderon" : MSS. Simancas. " Legajos de Mar y Tierra." When I refer again to this singularly interesting narrative, it will be under the title of Calderon. — Froude. ^ A rocky promontory at the extreme south of England not far from Land's End. The Lizard is the first English land seen by the voyager ■ivho comes up the Channel from the southwest. Plymouth lies about sixty miles further up the coast. The battle was a running fight from Plymouth to the NorthSea. 1 8 James Anthony Froude down wind and disappeared. They captured an- other an hour or two later, from which they learnt the English fleet was in Plymouth, and Medina Sidonia called a council of war, to consider whether s they should go in, and fall upon it while at anchor. Philip's orders, however, were peremptory that they should turn neither right nor left, and make straight for Margate roads and Parma. The Duke was un- enterprising, and consciously unequal to his work; lo and already bending under his responsibilities he hesitated to add to them. XVIII. Had he decided otherwise it would have made no difference, for the opportunity was not allowed him. Long before the Spaniards saw the IS Lizard they had themselves been seen, and on the evening of the igth-agth, the beacons along the coast had told England that the hour of its trial was come. XIX. To the ships at Plymouth the news was as a message of salvation. By thrift and short rations, 20 by good management, contented care, and lavish use of private means, there was still one week's provisions in the magazines, with powder and shot for one day's sharp fighting, according to English notions of what fighting ought to be. They had to meet the enemy, 25 as it were, with one arm bandaged® by their own sovereign ; but all wants, all difificulties, were for- gotten in the knowledge that he was come, and that ''■^ The English fleet had been sadly crippled by lack of funds to buy ammunition and food and to pay the men. For a full statement of the difficulty, see Froude's account in the pages immediately pre- ceding and those directly following the present selection. The Defeat of the Spanish Armada 19 they could grapple with him before they were dis- solved by starvation. XX. The warning light flew on to London, swift messengers galloping behind it. There was saddling and arming in village and town, and musters flocking s to their posts. Loyal England forgot its difference of creeds, and knew nothing but that the invader was at the door. One thing was wanting, a soldier to take the supreme command ; but the Queen found what she needed, found it in the person ' in whom in 10 her eyes, notwithstanding his offences in the Low Countries, all excellencies were still combined — her own Leicester. Worse appointment could not possi- bly have been made; but even Leicester was lifted into a kind of hero by the excitement of the moment. 15 He was not a coward, and not entirely a fool. Til- bury had been chosen as the place where the force was to assemble which was intended to cover London. It was the lowest spot where the Thames could be easily crossed, and it was impossible to say on which 20 side of the river the enemy might choose to approach. Leicester flew at once to his post there, and so far had he fulfilled his duty, that he had sixteen thousand men with him at Tilbury, with thirty thousand form- ing rapidly in his rear out of the musters of the mid- 25 land counties, before Parma could have advanced, under the most favourable circumstances, within a day's march of London.^ 2* The Armada reached Calais on Saturday, the 27th (August 6). Ha.l all gone well Tarma m-lght, with very great exertion, have crossed 20 James Anthony Froude XXI. Meanwhile, on the night of the I9th-29th, while the Armada was still some leagues to the south of the Lizard, the wind blowing fresh into Plymouth Sound, the Queen's ships and a few of the s privateers were warped out behind the shelter of Mount Edgecombe. All hands went merrily to work; vessel after vessel was brought to moorings behind Ram Head, so placed that they could fetch clear to the sea; and by Saturday morning, when lo the Spaniards were first sighting the coast of Corn- wall, forty sail were lying ready for action under the headland. XXII. The day wore on; noon passed and noth- ing had been seen. At length, towards July ao-30. IS three in the afternoon, the lookout men on the hill reported a line of sails on the western hori- on the following Wednesday, the 31st (August 10). His own letters prove that he could not have been ready sooner. His plan was to land at Margate, and even if he was unopposed three days at least would have been required to move his army within thirty miles of L.ondon. On the'26th of July (August 5), Leicester had ten thousand men with him at Tilbury. There were nine thousand on the same day in London, and the musters of the midland counties, even if they marched no more than fifteen miles a day, must have joined him at latest, had their pres- ence been required, before the 4th-i4th of August. — See Leicester's letters to Walsingham from the camp : MSS. Domestic. Provisions had been as little attended to for one service as the other. When four thousand Essex men came in on the 26th of July, after a hot march of twenty miles, " there was neither a barrel of beer nor a loaf of bread for them." London happily exerted itself, and sent stores down the river; the spirit of the men deserved better treatment. Famished as they were, " they said they would abide more hunger than that to serve her Majesty and the country." — Leicester to Walsingham, July 26- August 5. — Ftoude. The Defeat of the Spanish Armada 21 zon, the two wings being first visible, which were gradually seen to unite as the center rose over the rim of the sea. On they swept in a broad crescent, slowly, for the air was light ; and as the hulls shewed clear, it was seen that report had not exaggerated s the numbers said to be coming. A hundred and fifty, large and small, were counted and reported to Lord Howard; a few stray tenders bound for Flan- ders having sought the company and the protection of the mighty escort. 10 XXIII.- The English ships at once weighed, but shewed themselves as little as they could. The evening was cloudy, with the wind hanging to the land. It was growing dusk when the Armada opened Plymouth, and then for the first time Medina is Sidonia perceived that Howard was prepared for him, and that if he wished it he could not enter the Sound without an action. There was not light enough for him to measure his enemy's strength. He saw sails passing continually between his fleet 20 and the land, and vessels tacking and manoeuvring ; but confident in his own overpowering force, he sent up signals to lie-to for the night, and to pre- pare for a general action at daybreak. XXIV. About two o'clock, the moon rose with a 25 clear sky — a gibbous moon, no more than a half circle, but by the light of it the Spaniards perceived that sixty or seventy ships had glided out behind them, and were hovering at their rear just out of cannon shot. 3° 22 James Anthony Froude XXY. The dawn was still, but towards eight o'clock the breeze freshened from the west. The Armada made sail, and attempted to close. July 21 -31. To Medina Sidonia's extreme astonishment, s it seemed at the pleasure of the English to leave him or allow him to approach them as they chose. The high-towered, broad-bowed galleons moved like Thames barges piled with hay; while the sharp low English sailed at once two feet to the Spaniard's one, 10 and shot away as if by magic in the eye of the wind. It was as if a modern steam fleet was engaged with a squadron of the old-fashioned three-deckers, choos- ing their own 'distance and fighting or not fighting as suited their convenience. IS XXVI. The action opened with the Ark Raleigh, carrying Howard's flag, and three other English ships, whose names the Spaniards did not know, running along their entire rear line, firing succes- sively into each galleon as they passed, then wear- 20 ing round and returning over the same course. The San Matteo luffed into the wind as far as she could, inviting them to board, but they gave her their broadsides a second time and passed on. XXVII. Astonished and confounded as well by 25 the manoeuvring as by the rapidity of the fire, the Spanish oiificers could not refuse their admiration. They knew that they were inferior at sea, but how inferior they had not realized. The English were firing four shots to one, and with a fresh breeze 30 even the galleasses could not touch them. Such The Defeat of the Spanish Armada 23 artillery practice and ships so handled had never been seen.^ Alonzo da Leyva in the huge Rata attempted to cross the Ark Raleigh. Howard kept away as if to meet him, but ran by, again fired into the San Matteo, which was lying head to wind s unable to move, and swept on upon his way. XXVIII. The rest of the English ships were now engaged on the same conditions. The action con- tinued through the whole forenoon, the Spaniards making efforts to close and always failing. Con- 10 scious of their disadvantage, they still fought bravely. " So far as we see," wrote Drake, " they mean to sell their lives with blows." ^ But they had been flurried and surprised. Being to leeward, and leaning over to the wind, their shots had flown 15 high, and had scarcely touched the English ships at all, while they had themselves suffered consider- ably. The Biscayan flag-ship, the San Juan, had her mizzen-mast shot through in two places, many spars carried away, the captain wounded, and 20 fifteen men killed. Oquendo had specially dis- tinguished himself, Being present wherever the dan- ger was greatest, driving back into action vessels which were inclined to flinch ; but as the wind held neither he nor any one could change the fortunes 25 of the day, or enable the Spaniards to hurt an 25 " Muy bien artillados y marinades y veleados." — Calderon. — Froude. ^ Drake to Lord Henry Seymour, July 21: MSS. Domestic. — Vroude. 24 James Anthony Froude enemy whom they could not touch; and the rest of the English fleet coming out of the harbour, Medina Sidonia signalled to make sail up Channel, Martinez de Recalde covering the rear with the 5 squadron of Biscay. XXIX. The wind was now rising, and promised a squally evening. A fast boat was sent on with letters to Lord Henry Seymour reporting progress so far, and bidding him prepare in the Downs. lo An express went to London, begging for an instant supply of ammunition ; and while Drake went in pursuit of a detachment which appeared to be parted from the main Spanish fleet, and proved only to be the Flemish traders, Howard hung upon IS Recalde, sparing his powder but firing an occasional shot to prevent the enemy from recovering from their confusion. XXX. The misfortunes of the first day were not yet over. 20 XXXL Afraid to spread lest any of them should be cut off, the different squadrons huddled together. A rolling sea came up from the west, and as even- ing fell, the Capitana, of the Andalusian division, a galleon of twelve hundred tons, carrying the flag 25 of Pedro de Valdez, fouled the Santa Catalina, and broke her bowsprit. The forestays parted and the foremast fell overboard, and the ship, hampered by the wreck, dropped behind. Don Pedro fired a distress gun, and two of the galleasses came to his 30 assistance, and tried to take him in tow, but the The Defeat of the Spanish Armada 25 waves were running so high that the cable broke. Don Pedro was the only high officer in the fleet who was well acquainted with the Channel. He was himself of more importance than his ship, and the Duke dispatched boats to bring him off with 5 his crew. But he would not leave his charge, and he was left to his fate. It was almost dark. How- ard, believing the wreck to be deserted, did not stay for her, and went on in pursuit. A London priva- teer hung behind at her side till midnight, exchang- 10 ing occasional shots with her, and sometimes hearing voices calling, but "the wind and sea being very great," the words could not be distinguished. Drake returning from his chase, came up with her in the morning. She struck her flag, and he took her 15 with him to Torbay,^^ where he left her to the care of the Brixham fishermen, and himself hastened after the Admiral, carrying on with him De Valdez and the other officers. The prize proved of unex- pected value. Many casks of reals were found in 20 her, and infinitely more important, some tons of gunpowder, with which the Roebuck, the swiftest trawler in the harbour, flew in pursuit of the fleet.^ ^' A town some thirty miles east of Plymouth. Some notion can be had of the speed of the running fight up the Channel. 28 The prisoners were a serious embarrassment to the Torbay magis- trates. So sharp an account was likely to be demanded of the prop- erty found in the ship that they did not venture, without permission, to feed them on the stores which they had brought with them. Foreign- ers, who could speak no English, were looked on as no better than savages. " The cost of keeping them was great, the peril great, the discontent of the country people greatest of all," and had the rough 26 James Anthony Froude XXXII. Two hours after the accident to the Andalusian Capitana, another disaster overtook the juiyaa- gallcon of Oquendo. He was himself appar- August I. ently not on board at the time. The officers, s impatient and irritated at the results of the action, were quarrelling with themselves and one another. The captain struck the master gunner with a stick. The master gunner, who was a German, went below in a rage, thrust a burning linstock into a powder- lo barrel, and sprung through a port-hole into the sea. The deck was blown off from stem to stern. Two hundred seamen and soldiers were sent into the air ; some fell into the water and were drowned; some scorched or mutilated dropped back into the wreck. IS The ship, which was also one of the largest in the fleet, was built so strongly that she survived the shock and floated, and her masts still stood. The flash was seen. The Duke sent boats to learn what had happened and to save the men. The officers 20 and the few who were unhurt were taken off; but there were no means of removing the wounded. They, too, were abandoned therefore, to be picked up at daylight by the English and sent on shore, and ready Devonshire clowns acted on their own judgment, they would have solved the difficulty expeditiously after their own fashion. Prison- ers of war who could pay no ransom, found nowhere very gentle treat- ment in the sixteenth century. Ultimately some of them were sent to Exeter gaol, some of them were confined in a barn at Tor Abbey, some on board their own ship; and, " to save expense, they were fed on the refuse of their own provisions, which was too bad to be taken away, the fish stinking, and the bread full of worms." — Gilbert to Walsing- ham, July 26-August 5 : MSS. Domestic. — Froude. The Defeat of the Spanish Armada 27 where the disabled were kindly treated. The hull was still worth rifling. It contained money like all the rest of the ships, and at the bottom of the hold there were powder barrels which had escaped the explosion. 5 XXXIII. Lord Howard was supplying his worst deficiencies out of the enemy's own resources, and wringing from themselves the means of completing their destruction. After a wild night, the morning broke fine and still. 10 XXXIV. The wind had shifted with the dawn, and a light air was now coming up from the east. The Armada was off Portland ; "^ the English three or four miles to the west ; both fleets lying motion- ~ less in the calm, and rising and falling to the swell. 15 Howard being now to leeward, had lost his advan- tage of the day before. Sidonia, had he wished it, might have forced another engagement with fairer chances in his favour, but he preferred to rest his shaken crews, and give them breathing-time to re- 20 cover their confidence. He dispatched a second letter to the Prince of Parma, describing his position and relating his adventures. He made the best of what had befallen him, and concluded, on the whole, that the English were afraid of him, because they 25 had declined to close; but he was evidently ex- tremely anxious. He knew nothing of the coast. He begged Parma most earnestly to send him pilots : and he confessed himself at an entire loss 29 About seventy-five miles east by north from Plymouth. 28 James Anthony Froude what to do or where to go if he was overtaken by a storm.^ XXXV. In the Channel, during fine summer weather, the wind, as the fishermen say, goes round 5 with the sun. It blows sometimes freshly from the north-east in the morning; it drops to the south at noon ; to south-west in the afternoon ; and so, falling calm at sunset, rises again at night from the north. Sidonia knew nothing of these local pecul- Tuesday, _ _ ^ _ lo July 33- iarities ; the next morning the relative posi- "^"^ *■ tions of the fleets remaining unchanged, and finding himself to windward, he bore down upon Howard, with a steady easterly breeze, to offer battle. The English headed out towards the sea. IS He supposed that they were flying, and though he could not overtake tlfem, was tempted to give chase. The galleons, though bad sailers all, were of unequal slowness. The San Marcos outsailed the rest, and was led far beyond her consorts in the pursuit. 20 When the breeze headed round as usual, Lord Howard was now to windward of her, while she was herself several miles to windward of her con- sorts, and beyond reach of help from them. XXXVI. The object of the English was to avoid 25 a general engagement, and especially to avoid com- ing to close quarters, where the enemy would be on more equal terms with them; outnumbered as they were, and short of powder, their plan was to make '" Medina Sidonia to the Duke of Parma, July 22-August i : MSS. Simancas. — Froude. The Defeat of the Spanish Armada 29 the best of their superiority as sailors, and wound and injure as many of the galleons as possible, with least damage to themselves. The San Marcos was instantly set upon. She defended herself with ex- treme courage, and, as the Spaniards thought, with s no less skill. She fought single-handed for an hour and a half, firing what they considered the unexam- pled number of eighty shots, and receiving five hundred. Oquendo came at last to the rescue, and the action off Plymouth having almost exhausted 10 his stock of powder, and the Brixham sloop not having yet overtaken him, Howard was obliged to draw off till he could be relieved from the shore.^^ Sidonia, ignorant of the cause of his retreat, believed that he had been worsted by the San Marcos alone, 15 and that if the galleasses had gone into the action, as they might and ought to have done, they would have won a signal victory.^ XXXVII. A stray Venetian had been meanwhile taken by the privateers, with one or two other small 20 vessels, and carried into Weymouth. The news that the Spaniards were in the Channel had by this time penetrated into every corner of the country, and the patriotic heart of England was on fire. The Oxford High Church students who were training 25 for the College at Rheims; the young ladies and '1 Diary of Sir John Hawkins, July and August, 1588: MSS. Domestic. — Froude. 32 Medina Sidonia to Don Hugo de Mon^ada, July 23-August 2 : MSS. Simancas. — Froude. JO James Anthony Froude gentlemen who had given their consciences in charge to the Jesuit missionaries, who, if they admitted that they were English, yet called themselves in prefer- ence Catholics — first Catholic and only English s afterwards — these, it might be, were like Lord Arundel in the Tower, beseeching Heaven for their country's fall; but the robust heart of the nation laid aside its quarrels of opinion in the presence of danger to England's independence. Had Mary lo Stuart lived, had James of Scotland been a Catholic, and had the Spaniards come with no other purpose but to place him on the throne of Elizabeth, the admonition of Allen might have found some, though not even then perhaps a general, response. But IS Philip had chosen to present himself as meaning, under the mask of religion, to make England a dependency of Spain ; and, in the face of so hateful a possibility, Cliffords, and Veres, and Percys took their places beside the Raleighs and the Cecils of 20 the new era; and from Lyme, and Weymouth, and Poole, and the Isle of Wight, young lords and gen- tlemen came streaming out in every smack or sloop that they could lay hold of, to snatch their share of danger and glory at Howard's side. The strength 25 which they were able to add was little or nothing ; but they brought enthusiasm, they brought to the half-starved and neglected crews the sense that the heart of England was with them, and transformed every common seaman into a hero. On the Tuesday 30 evening after the fight, Medina Sidonia counted a The Defeat of the Spanish Armada 31 hundred sail behind him, and observed, with some uneasiness, that the numbers were continually in- creasing. XXXVIII. Wednesday was again calm. Neither shot nor powder had yet arrived, though express after express had been sent for it. No risk might be ventured, and the English lay now six miles from the Armada waiting till their maga- juiyj^. zines were refilled. The Duke, supposing ^"s^sta. them to be afraid, sent Don Hugo de Mon^ada 10 with the galleasses to engage. On that day there was not a breath of wind of any kind, and the gal- leasses had them at some advantage. There was no serious loss however; that night ammunition came sufficient for one more day's fighting, and 13 Sir George Carey, who had run out from behind the Isle of Wight in a pinnace, to see what was going on, found himself, at five in the ° ° ' ' Thursday, morning, " in the midst of round shot, fly- juiy 25- ing as thick as musket-balls in a skirmish "^^ ^' 20 on land." ^ The night had been still and dark. With the first light, the Spaniards saw two of their store-vessels, loaded with provisions, being towed away by some English launches. The wind rising, Alonzo da Leyva in the Rata, with two galleasses, 25 which had taken Recalde's place in the rear, at once started in pursuit. The main body of the Armada lying open, and the San Martin with 83 Sir George Carey to , July 25-August 4: MSS. Domestic.^ Froude. 32 James Anthony Froude Sidonia's own flag being clearly distinguishable, Howard for the first time determined to try a close engagement. XXXIX. It was a day of special distinction for s the Howard family. He took his cousin Lord Thomas with him in the Lion, his two sons-in-law, Lord Sheffield and Sir R. Southwell, in the Bear and the Elizabeth Jonas, and with his own and one other ship, the Victory, under Captain Barker, he lo went straight into the centre of the Armada, steering direct for the San Martin herself, and exchanging broadsides at speaking distance with every galleon that he passed. Oquendo, sure to be found where the hardest blows were going, threw himself across IS the Ark Raleigh's course before she could reach the San Martin. The Ark ran into him, and two sol- diers on his forecastle were killed by the shock ; but the Ark's rudder was unshipped; she cleared herself of her enemy, but dropped away for the 20 moment unmanageable to leeward, arid was imme- diately surrounded by a number of galleons, which attempted to close with her. In an instant her own boats had her in tow ; her sails filled as they pulled her head round, and when the galleons had assured 2S themselves of their prize, she slipped away between them so fast, that a Spanish spectator says, " though the swiftest ships in the whole Armada pursued her, they seemed in comparison to be at anchor."^ 8* " Se fue saliendo con tanta velocidad que el galeon San Juan de Fernando y otro ligerisimo, con ser los mas veleros de la Armada que The Defeat of the Spanish Armada 33 XL. The action continued afterwards for several hours. The EngUsh had not suffered at all. Hardly a man had been wounded. But neither had they any captures to boast of. Calderon ^ leaves it uncertain whether Da Leyva recovered the store-ships ; the s English writers do not mention having taken them. The only visible result had been the expenditure of powder. But the invisible result to the Armada had been far more serious. The four feet of timber had been no defence against the English shot. The sol- 10 diers had been sent below for security, and the balls ripping through the oak, had sent the splinters flying among them like shell. Many had been killed, many more had been wounded ; masts, yards, rigging, all had suffered. They had expected that one engage- is ment would annihilate the power of their enemies, and battle followed upon battle, and there was as yet no sign of an end. They began to be afraid of the English. There was something devilish in the rapid manoeuvres of their ships and the torrents of 20 shot which plunged into their tall sides, while their own flew wild and harmless. Their ammunition, too, slowly as they had fired, was giving out as well as the English, and it was less easy for them to supply themselves. The Duke resolved to fight no more 25 if he could help it, and to make the best of his way le fueron dando ca?a en comparacion, se quedaron surtos." — Calderon. — Froude. ^ Don Pedro Coco Calderon, the purser of the fleet, was one of the few who returned to Spain, D 34 James Anthony Froude to the Prince of Parma, to whom he again wrote, without attempting to conceal his perplexities. XLI. " The enemy pursue me," he said. " They fire upon me most days from morning till nightfall ; s but they will not close and grapple. I have given them every opportunity. I have purposely left ships exposed to tempt them to board ; but they decline to do it, and there is no remedy, for they are swift and we are slow. They have men and ammunition lo in abundance, while these actions have almost con- sumed ours ; and if these calms last, and they con- tinue the same tactics, as they assuredly will, I must request your Excellency to send me two shiploads of shot and powder immediately. I am in urgent IS need of it. I trust to find you ready on my arrival to come out and join me. If the wind is fair we shall soon be with you ; but, any way, whether we are detained or not, we cannot do without ammuni- tion. You must send me as much as you can spare." ^ 20 XLI I. The day following, Friday, the Duke was allowed a respite. The fine weather continued, and July 36- ^^ Spaniards inclined away towards the Augusts, coast of France, while Howard bore up for Dover,*^ for the supplies of all kinds which he so 25 frightfully needed. The Earl of Sussex, who was in command at the castle, gave him all the powder '8 Medina Sidonia to the Duke of Farma, July 25-August 4 : MSS. Simancas. *' The principal seaport of southeast England and the one nearest France. The fight had now nearly reached the North Sea. The Defeat of the Spanish Armada 35 that he had. The stores came in, which had been taken from the prizes : every barrel of powder, every shot whether of stone or iron, having been first care- fully registered for the severe account which it was known that the Queen would demand. The vict- s nailers had not arrived, but were supposed to be at the mouth of the Thames; and having obtained as much as he could get, if less than he wanted, How- ard returned in the evening to his place in the rear of the Armada. 10 XLIII. On Saturday the weather broke. After less than a week of calm and sunshine, squalls and driving showers again came up from the juiy.a?- westward. The Armada was then off Bou- ^^eust^. logne, the English fleet a league behind it. The is Duke, with the prospect of a rising sea, without pilots who knew the coast, afraid of the Downs for fear of the Goodwin Sands, and of Margate, on account of the banks and shoals in the mouth of the river, determined to bring up in Calais Roads,^ and wait 20 there till Parma was ready. The wind was to the west of south, and as long as it held in that quar- ter the roadstead was tolerably secure. Coming up with a rising tide, he let fall his anchors suddenly, hoping that his pursuers would be unprepared, and 25 would be swept past him: but his movements had been watched by eyes which were skilful to in- 58 Off the northeastern coast of France, just beyond the Straits of Dover, some twenty miles west of Dunkirk, and a half day's sail east of Boulojine. 36 James Anthony Froude terpret them. The English anchors fell simulta- neously with his own two miles astern, and the two fleets lay watching each other, almost within cannon shot of the shore.^ s XLIV. There were still some hours of daylight remaining, and M. Gourdain, the governor of Calais, drove down with his wife to the parade, in the hope of seeing a battle.*'' The Duke sent an officer on shore, to intimate his arrival, and request the hos- 10 pitalities of the port, while a boat went on to Dun- kirk with another dispatch to the Prince. XLV. It was brief, uneasy, and impatient: Sido- nia was irritated at finding no answer to his for- mer letters. He again confessed himself helpless 15 against the repeated assaults of the enemy. He trusted Parma was ready to cross. If not, and if there was to be more delay, he begged him to send immediately thirty or forty flyboats or gunboats, which could move quickly, and keep the English 20 at bay. He was uncomfortable at the position of the fleet, and painfully anxious to remove to some more secure anchorage.*^ XLVI. It is needless to say that the Prince had not been idle. His expenses were so enormous that 25 he had been once more in extremity for money — '' R. Tomson to Walsingham, July 30-August 9 : MSS. Domestic. — Froude. *" " Hallole con su muger en un coche k la marina, esperando ver si se daba la batalla. " — Calderon. — Froude. *i Medina Sidonia to the Prince of Parma, July 27-August 6 : MSS. Simancas. — Froude. The Defeat of the Spanish Armada 37 his army had been in as bad a case as the English fleet at Plymouth, and at the point of breaking up through famine.*^ He had kept his men together only by the expectation of the supplies which were coming with the fleet. Medina Sidonia's letters had s reached him one after the other, and the troops were in perfect readiness to go on board the trans- ports. The officer who came from Calais expressed impatience that they were not already embarked. The Duke, it seems, had expected that Parma would 10 have met him on the sea, and that they could fight the English with their united force. He explained that this was totally impossible. To come out while the enemy's fleet was undispersed would be certain destruction. His transports could not protect them- is selves. The Armada must clear the Channel, and weather permitting, he was then prepared to fulfil his Majesty's commands. As to sending gunboats to protect Medina Sidonia, he could not do it, for he had none belonging to him. Medina Sidonia must pro- 20 tect him. Ammunition he would provide, " so far as his own penury would allow." XLVII. That the majestic fleet which was to over- whelm opposition should arrive at the scene of action so helpless as itself to require assistance, was not 25 particularly encouraging. Parma, however, promised that his army should go on board immediately. He would be ready, he said, by the middle of the follow- *2"A pique de deshacerse de pura necesidad." — El Duque de Farma al Rey, I0-20 Julio: MS. Ibid. — Froude. 38 James Anthony Froude ing week. He admitted that the Armada must not remain a day longer than necessary in Calais Roads, and was as anxious as the Duke could be to see it in some better shelter. Only he reiterated — and as the 5 Duke was evidently unconvinced, he sent a special messenger to Philip to insist upon it — that to risk his barges in a naval engagement would be simple madness. They could not encounter even the slight- est roll of the sea, and if there was no enemy to fear, lo could only pass safely in a calm.*^ XLVIII. Parma's answer did not diminish Medina Sidonia's uneasiness. More than half of his shot was expended; and with the enemy's fleet so near, the promised supply from Dunkirk could not easily reach IS him. On the night of his arrival, too, the few Flem- ish pilots that he had slipped overboard in the dark- ness, stole the cock-boats, set their shirts for sails and *^ [The long quotation in Spanish of the letter from Parma to Philip is omitted.] Parma's words shew clearly, if proof were wanted, that it was not the presence of the Dutch which prevented him from coming out. The words " el Armada enemiga " refer exclusively to the Eng- lish. He never speaks of the Dutch by the honourable title of enemies. They are always "los rebeldes." Nor does he allude anywhere to the possibility of interference from them, except in the use of Sluys har- bour. Their ships had been off Dunkirk in the middle of July, but they had been driven into the Scheldt by the storm of the night of the 2ist-3lst, and did not issue from it again till after the action oif Gravelines. — See Burnham to Walsingham, July 25-August 4; Kil- legrew to Walsingham, July 31-August 10: MSS. Holland. Lord Howard says expressly that on the action of July 29, not a Dutch sail was visible. 1 do not insist on this from any wish to detract from the merits of the Hollanders. Their good deserts in the cause of Euro- pean liberty are too genuine to require or permit a fictitious distinction to be intertwined in their laurel wreath. — Froude. The Defeat of the Spanish Armada 39 made for Flushing,** leaving him dependent on the imperfect knowledge of the Spanish shipmasters and their still more imperfect charts. XLIX. Grave, however, as may have been the anxiety of the Spanish commander. Lord Howard s and the English officers had cause for deeper dis- quiet. Their spirits were unshaken, their resolution firm as ever ; but they could not conceal from them- selves that they had severe and dangerous work before them, and that on their conduct only it depended to 10 save their country, if not from conquest, yet from teing the scene of a bloody and desperate struggle. Notwithstanding all that they could do, the enemy's fleet had arrived at its destination, how much injured they could not tell, but to appearance with its strength is not materially impaired, and in communica- juiyas- tion with the Prince of Parma's army. Lord August 7. Henry Seymour joined them with the squadron of the Straits an hour after they anchored, and forty London privateers were reported to be in the mouth 20 of the Thames. But ships and men were of no use without food and ammunition. Seymour was vict- ualled but for "one day's full meal." Howard and Drake, after sharing all they had in their respective divisions, eked out as it had been by short rations, 25 fish, and voluntary fasting, could provide their crews but with five scanty dinners and one breakfast more. The provisions said to be on the way had not arrived ; " Notes from Flushing, August 3-13: MS. Ibid. Calderon says that two of them deserted to Lord Howard. — Froude. 40 James Anthony Froude and of powder, after all that Sussex had been able to furnish out of Dover Castle, they had only sufficient for one day's fighting. Burghley had laboured in vain with the Queen. He had tried to borrow money s in the city, but his credit in the city had sunk with the appearance of the Spaniards ; *^ and the prudent mer- chants had drawn their purse strings till the cloud over the future should be raised. The treasury was not empty. There is no record that the half million 10 of reserve had been touched. The Burgundian dia- monds had been neither restored nor disposed of; but to the money and the jewels, which as Howard said, would never save her, Elizabeth clung with the maddened grasp of passionate avarice. It was known IS that there was powder in the Tower. A messenger had galloped up from Dover stating the condition of the fleet, and pressing for an instant supply. The most tapebound constitutional government could not have sent a more hopeless answer than Walsingham 20 was obliged to return. The Admiral was lying with empty magazines, with an enemy twice his strength almost within gunshot, and he was required to specify exactly " the proportion of shot and powder that he wanted." ^ 2S L. Deserters may perhaps have comforted him with the knowledge that the Spaniards were no better 46 Burghley to Walsingham, July 19-29 : MSS. Domestic. — Froude. 46 11 You write that I must specify the proportion of shot and powder that we want. Such is the uncertainty of the service, that no man can do it; therefore with all speed send as much as you can. " — Howard to Walsingham, July 29-August 8 : MSS. Domestic. — Frottde. The Defeat of the Spanish Armada 41 provided ; but Parma's magazines were at hand, and delay at all events was ruin. Starvation, if nothing else, would drive every English ship from the seas in another week, and the Channel would be in the enemy's possession. Sunday was fine, with the wind s still from the southwest. The boats of the Armada passed backwards and forwards between the galleons and Calais, bringing fresh vegetables, medicines, and other conveniences. In the afternoon, as the breeze freshened, five large English ships drove their an- 10 chors and fouled each other; but they were sepa- rated without serious hurt and securely moored again, and at five in the evening a council of war was held in Howard's cabin. Howard himself, with Sheffield, Seymour, Southwell, Palmer, Drake, Haw- 15 kins. Winter, Fenner, and Frobisher assembled with the fate of England in their hands, to decide what to do. If we are to believe Camden, " the foresight of Queen Elizabeth " prescribed the course which was resolved upon. w LI. The Spanish fleet was anchored close on the 'edge of the shoal water, and to attack it where it lay was impossible. It was determined to drive them out into the Channel with fire-ships, of which they were known to be afraid. Sir Henry Palmer 25 proposed to cross to Dover and fetch over some worthless hulks ; but time would be lost, and there was not a day nor an hour to spare. Among the volunteer vessels which had attached themselves to the fleet, there were many that would be useless in 30 42 James Anthony Froude action, and as fit as the best for the service for which they were now needed. Eight were taken, the rig- ging smeared rapidly with pitch, the hulls filled with any useless material which could be extemporised s that would contribute to the blaze. The sky was cloudy, the moon was late in its last quarter, and did not rise till morning ; and the tide, towards mid- night, set directly down from the English position to where the ships of the Armada, seeking shelter lo from the bend of the coast, lay huddled dangerously close. Long, low, sighing gusts from the westward promised the rising of a gale.*^ The crews of the condemned vessels undertook to pilot them to their destination, and then belay the sheets, lash the helm, IS fire, and leave them. LII. Thus, when the Spanish bells were about striking twelve, and, save the watch on deck, sol- diers and seamen lay stretched in sleep, certain dark objects which had been seen dimly drifting on the 20 tide near where the galleons lay thickest, shot sud- denly into pyramids of light, flames leaping from ruddy sail to sail, flickering on the ropes and fore- castles, foremasts and bowsprits a lurid blaze of con- flagration.*^ A cool commander might have ordered *' For the details of the scenes of the night and the following day I must refer generally to the letters of Howard, Drake, Winter, Tomson, Fenner, and others in the Record Office, and to four Spanish accounts, written by persons actually present, Coco Calderon, the Prince of Ascoli, Don Juan de Manrique, and one more whose name is not given, all of which are in MS. at Simancas. — Froude. *' " Y ellas arOiendo espantosamente " : Caldejo^. — proii(if. The Defeat of the Spanish Armada 43 out his boats and towed the fireships clear; but Medina Sidonia, with a strain already upon him beyond the strength of his capacity, saw coming upon him some terrible engines of destruction, like the floating mine which had shattered Parma's s bridge at Antwerp.** Panic spread through the entire Armada; the enemy they most dreaded was upon them. The galleons were each riding with two anchors ; for their misfortune few of them were provided with a third. A shot was fired from the 10 San Martin as a signal to cut or slip their cables and make to sea. Amidst cries and confusion, and lighted to their work by the blaze, they set sail and cleared away, congratulating themselves, when they had reached the open water and found that all or 15 most of them were safe, on the skill with which they had defeated the machinations of the enemy. They lay-to six miles from shore, intending to return with the daylight, recover their anchors and resume their old position. 20 LI 1 1. The English meanwhile, having accom- plished at least part of their purpose in starting the Armada out of its berth, weighed at leisure, and stood off after it from the shore, Drake, with half the fleet, hanging on the skirts of the Spaniards; 25 Howard, with the rest, hovering nearer to Calais, endeavouring to drive in upon the sands or the fire- ^' In April, 1585, the Antwerpers blew up the bridge across the Scheldt which Parma had constructed to prevent supplies from reach- ing the city. 44 James Anthony Froude ships the last loiterers of the Armada, which had been slower than the rest in getting out. The first July 29- object which the Admiral saw at daybreak Augusts, ^^g (.jjg largest of the four galleasses, with 5 De Mon^ada himself on board, aground on Calais Bar. Her helm had been entangled in a cable, she had become ungovernable, and the tide had forced her ashore within shot of the French batteries at back of the sand-bank which forms the harbour, lo The tide had ebbed, the water was still round her, but she had fallen over towards the bank,™ and Howard, whose notion was to " pluck the feathers of the Spaniards one by one,"^^ sent his own launch with some other boats to take her. She was power- is fully manned; between soldiers, sailors, and slaves, she carried seven hundred men. In the position in which she was lying, however, her large guns were useless, and the galley-slaves, with the prospect of liberty before them, did not make the defence more 2o easy. The Spaniards fought gallantly; several of the English were killed, but at last two musket balls struck Mongada at the same moment. He fell dead on the deck. The slaves sprung overboard, and half in panic and half in pursuit, the crew and the 25 troops followed. " Some swam, some waded on shore, many were drowned." The English swarmed up over the bulwarks, took possession of the gal- ^ " For estar boleado de un lado." — Froude. ^1 Howard to Walsingham, July 29-August 8 : MSS. Domestic. — Froude. The Defeat of the Spanish Armada 45 leass, and intended to wait for the tide to carry her off. LIV. The French meanwhile were watching the scene in crowds from the top of the Rysbank. M. Gourdain, as the ship was on the French shore, 5 might have disputed if he had pleased the lawfulness of the capture. He contented himself with sending off a boat with a message that the English deserved the spoil for their courage, and might have it; but the ship itself he required them to leave where 10 it lay. The language was perfectly friendly, and Gourdain having been appointed by the King, was better disposed to England than to Spain. National antipathy, however, proved too strong to be controlled. " Our rude men," says an English 15 officer who was present, " knowing no difference be- tween friend and foe," began to ill-use the French who had come on board, " spoiling them," and proba- bly pitching them into the sea. Their friends on shore took up their quarrel. The Rysbank battery 20 opened upon the galleass in return, and the English had to scramble into their boats in haste, carrying with them what plunder they could seize.®^ LV. It was well that no more time was wasted over so small a matter. Lord Howard had delayed 25 already too long for his fame.^ It was no time for 52 R. Tomson to Walsingham, July 3Ci-August 9 : MSS. Domestic. — Froude. 53 " Del Almirante se habia un poco que no hizo su deber. Toda la gloria se da a Drack." — Extract of a letter from Calais, August 31 : MSS. Simancas. — Froude. 46 James Anthony Froude the Admiral of the fleet to be loitering over a stray plume which had dropped from the enemy's wing, when every ship was imperiously needed for a far more important service. Medina Sidonia intended s to return to his position at Calais. Drake, whose larger mind comprehended the position in its broader bearings, was determined not only that he should never see his anchors again, but that he should be driven north through the Narrow Seas. The wind 10 was still rising and threatened a storm. He had seen enough of the sailing powers of the galleons to be assured that until it shifted they could make no way against it ; and once in the North Sea, they would be in unknown waters without a har- 15 hour into which they could venture to run, and at all events for a time cut off from their communi- cation with Dunkirk. They had drifted in the night further than they intended, and when the sun rose they were scattered over a large surface 20 off Gravelines.^* Signals were sent up for them to collect and make back for Calais; but Drake with his own squadron, and Henry Seymour, with the squadron of the Straits, having the advantage of wind, speed, and skill, came on them while they 25 were still dispersed. Seymour opened the action at eight in the morning with a cluster of galleons on the Spaniards' extreme right. Reserving their fire till within a hundred and twenty yards, and wasting no cartridges at any longer distance, the ^ About twelve miles east of Calais and west of Dunkirk. The Defeat of the Spanish Armada 47 English ships continued through the entire fore- noon to pour into them one continuous rain of shot. They were driven m upon their own centre, where they became entangled in a confused and helpless mass, a mere target to the English guns, s Sir William Winter alone delivering five hundred shot into them, " never out of harquebuz range, and often within speaking distance." ^^ LV^. Drake himself meanwhile had fallen on Medina Sidonia and Oquendo, who, with a score of 10 galleons better handled than the rest, were endeav- ouring to keep sea room, and retain some command of themselves. But their wretched sailing powers put them at a disadvantage for which skill and courage could not compensate. The English were 15 always to windward of them, and hemmed in at every turn, they too were forced back upon their consorts, hunted together as a shepherd hunts sheep upon a common, and the whole mass of them forced slowly towards the shoals and banks on the Flanders 20 coast. LVII. Howard came up at noon to join in the work of destruction. The English accounts tell a simple story. The Spaniards' gun practice, which had been always bad, was helpless beyond past 25 experience. Their want of ammunition was not suspected, for they continued to fire throughout the day after their slow awkward fashion ; but their guns, worked on rolling platforms by soldiers un- w Winter to Walsingham, August i-n : MSS. Domestic. — Froude. 48 James Anthony Froude used to the sea, sent their shot into the air or into the water; while the English, themselves almost untouched, fired into them without intermission from eight in the morning till sunset, " when almost the s last cartridge was spent, and every man was weary with labour." They took no prizes and attempted to take none. Their orders were to sink or destroy. They saw three large galleons go down. Three others, as the wind fell westerly, they saw reeling 10 helplessly towards Ostend ; and the fate of these they heard of afterwards ; but of the general effect of the fire, neither at the time nor afterwards did they know anything beyond its practical and broad results. Some details, however, of that terrible day IS can be gathered from the narratives of the few Spaniards who fought through it and survived to tell the tale. [The paragraphs immediately following this take up the tale, as may be inferred from the last sentence, from the point of view of the Spanish. From this point of view they repeat what has already been said in paragraphs LV., LVI., and LVII. The narrative then traces the flight of the Spanish, the pursuit by the English as far as Scotland, and the return of the latter to England. The chapter then continues as indicated in the preface to the selection.J II Robert fLouts .Ste&cnson Born 1850. Died 1894 PERSONAL EXPERIENCE AND REVIEW [7%« Amateur Emigrant, from which the following chapter, Personal Experience and Review, is taken, is a record of the voyage which Stevenson made in the second cabin of an Atlan- tic liner to America in 1879. The preceding six chapters give the impressions of the author during his voyage, and pictures of the life on board ship — of the passengers, the officers, the crew, and of chance stowaways. The present chapter is a summing up of the impressions of the ship and its people. The book was written in rough shortly after the voyage but remained un- published until 1895. The chapter is here printed through the kindness of iVlessrs. Stone and Kimball of Chicago.] I. Travel is of two kinds ; and this voyage of mine across the ocean combined both. "Out of my country and myself I go," sings the old poet : and I was not only travelling out of my country in lati- tude and longitude, but out of myself in diet, asso- s ciates, and consideration. Part of the interest and a great deal of the amusement flowed, at least to me, from this novel situation in the world. II. I found that I had what they call fallen in life with absolute success and verisimilitude. I was 10 E 49 50 Robert Louis Stevenson taken for a steerage passenger ; no one seemed surprised that I should be so ; and there was noth- ing but the brass plate between decks to remind me that I had once been a gentleman. In a for- 5 mer book,^ describing a former journey, I expressed some wonder that I could be readily and naturally taken for a pedlar, and explained the accident by the difference of language and manners between England and France. I must now take a humbler 10 view ; for here I was among my own countrymen, somewhat roughly clad, to be sure, but with every advantage of speech and manner ; and I am bound to confess that I passed for nearly anything you please except an educated gentleman. The sailors IS called me "mate," the ofiflcers addressed me as " my man," my comrades accepted me without hesi- tation for a person of their own character and experience, but with some curious information. One, a mason himself, believed I was a mason ; 20 several, and among these at least one of the sea- men, judged me to be a petty officer in the Amer- ican navy; and I was so often set down for a practical engineer that at last I had not the heari to deny it. From all these guesses I drew one 25 conclusion, which told against the insight of my companions. They might be close observers in their own way, and read the manners in the face; but it was plain that they did not extend their observation to the hands. ^ An Inland Voyage. Personal Experience and Review 51 III. To the saloon passengers also I sustained my part without a hitch. It is true I came little in their way; but when we did encounter, there was no recognition in their eye, although I confess I sometimes courted it in silence. All these, my 5 inferiors and equals, took me, like the transformed monarch in the story,^ for a mere common, human man. They gave me a hard, dead look, with the flesh about the eye kept unrelaxed. IV. With the women this surprised me less, as I ic had already experimented on the sex by going abroad through a suburban part of London simply attired in a sleeve-waistcoat. The result was curious. I then learned for the first time, and by the exhaus- tive process, how much attention ladies are accus- 15 tomed to bestow on all male creatures of their own station ; for, in my humble rig, each one who went by me caused me a certain shock of surprise and a sense of something wanting. In my normal cir- cumstances, it appeared every young lady must have 20 paid me some tribute of a glance ; and though I had often not detected it when it was given, I was well aware of its absence when it was withheld. My height seemed to decrease with every woman who passed me, for she passed me like a dog. 25 This is one of my grounds for supposing that what are called the upper classes may sometimes pro- duce a disagreeable impression in what are called 2 The story is perhaps most familiar in Ix)ngfellow's King Robert of Sicily. 52 Robert Louis Stevenson the lower ; and I wish some one would continue my experiment, and find out exactly at what stage of toilette a man becomes invisible to the well-regu- lated female eye. s V. Here on shipboard the matter was put to a more complete test ; for, even with the addition of speech and manner, I passed among the ladies for precisely the average man of the steerage. It was one afternoon that I saw this demonstrated. A 10 very plainly dressed woman was taken ill on deck. I think I had the luck to be present at every sud- den seizure during all the passage ; and on this oc- casion found myself in the place of importance, supporting the sufferer. There was not only a large IS crowd immediately around us, but a considerable knot of saloon passengers leaning over our heads from the hurricane-deck. One of these, an elderly managing woman, hailed me with counsels. Of course I had to reply ; and as the talk went on, I began to 2o discover that the whole group took me for the hus- band. I looked upon my new wife, poor creature, with mingled feelings ; and I must own she had not even the appearance of the poorest class of city servant- maids, but looked more like a country wench who 25 should have been employed in a roadside inn. Now was the time for me to go and study the brass plate.' ' The dividing line between the steerage and the second cabin in which Stevenson was travelling. On page 7 he says : " When I felt out of spirits I could go down and refresh myself with a look of that brass plate." Compare also the second sentence of paragraph II. Personal Experience and Review 53 VI. To such of the officers as knew about me — the doctor, the purser, and the stewards — I appeared in the light of a broad joke. The fact that I spent the better part of my day in writing had gone abroad over the ship and tickled them all prodigiously, s Whenever they met me they referred to my absurd occupation with familiarity and breadth of humor- ous intention. Their manner was well calculated to remind me of my fallen fortunes. You may be sincerely amused by the amateur literary efforts of 10 a gentleman, but you scarce publish the feeling to his face. " Well ! " they would say : " still writing .' " And the smile would widen into a laugh. The purser came one day into the cabin, and, touched to the heart by my misguided industry, offered me 15 some other kind of writing, " for which," he added pointedly, " you will be paid." This was nothing else than to copy out the list of passengers. VII. Another trick of mine which told against my reputation was my choice of roosting-place in an 20 active draught upon the cabin floor. I was openly jeered and flouted for this eccentricity ; and a con- siderable knot would sometimes gather at the door to see my last dispositions for the night. This was embarrassing, but I learned to support the trial with 25 equanimity. VIII. Indeed I may say that, upon the whole, my new position sat lightly and naturally upon my spirits. I accepted the consequences with readiness, and found them far from difficult to bear. The 30 54 Robert Louis Stevenson steerage conquered me ; I conformed more and more to the type of the place, not only in manner but at heart, growing hostile to the officers and cabin pas- sengers who looked down upon me, and day by day s greedier for small delicacies. Such was the result, as I fancy, of a diet of bread and butter, soup and porridge. We think we have no sweet tooth as long as we are full to the brim of molasses ; but a man must have sojourned in the workhouse before he lo boasts himself indifferent to dainties. Every even- ing, for instance, J was more and more pre-occupied about our doubtful fare at tea. If it was delicate my heart was much lightened ; if it was but broken fish I was proportionally downcast. The offer of a IS little jelly from a fellow-passenger more provident than myself caused a marked elevation in my spirits. And I would have gone to the ship's end and back again for an oyster or a chipped fruit. IX. In other ways I was content with my posi- 20 tion. It seemed no disgrace to be confounded with my company; for I may as well declare at once I found their manners as gentle and becoming as those of any other class. I do not mean that my friends could have sat down without embarrassment and 25 laughable disaster at the table of a duke. That does not imply an inferiority of breeding, but a dif- ference of usage. Thus I flatter myself that I con- ducted myself well among my fellow-passengers; yet my most ambitious hope is not to have avoided 30 faults, but to have committed as few as possible. Personal Experience and Review 55 I know too well that my tact is not the same as their tact, and that my habit of a different society constituted, not only no qualification, but a positive disability to move easily and becomingly in this. When Jones complimented me — because I "man- 5 aged to behave very pleasantly" to my fellow-pas- sengers, was how he put it — I could follow the thought in his mind, and knew his compliment to be such as we pay foreigners on their proficiency in English. I dare say this praise was given me im- 10 mediately on the back of some unpardonable sole- cism, which had led him to review my conduct as a whole. We are all ready to laugh at the plough- man among lords ; we should consider also the case of a lord among the ploughmen. I have seen a 15 lawyer in the house of a Hebridean fisherman ; and I know, but nothing will induce me to disclose, which of these two was the better gentleman. Some of our finest behaviour, though it looks well enough from the boxes, may seem even brutal to 20 the gallery. We boast too often manners that are parochial rather than universal ; that, like a country wine, will not bear transportation for a hundred miles, nor from the parlour to the kitchen. To be a gentleman is to be one all the world over, and 25 in every relation and grade of society. It is a high calling, to which a man must first be born, and then devote himself for life. And, unhappily, the manners of a certain so-called upper grade have a kind of currency, and meet with a certain external 30 56 Robert Louis Stevenson acceptation throughout all the others, and this tends to keep us well satisfied with slight acquirements and the amateurish accomplishments of a clique. But manners, like art, should be human and central. 5 X. Some of my fellow-passengers, as I now moved among them in a relation of equality, seemed to me excellent gentlemen. They were not rough, nor hasty, nor disputatious; debated pleasantly, dif- fered kindly ; were helpful, gentle, patient, and placid, lo The type of manners was plain, and even heavy; there was little to please the eye, but nothing to shock; and I thought gentleness lay more nearly at the spring of behaviour than in many more ornate and delicate societies. I say delicate, where I can- is not say refined ; a thing may be fine, like ironwork, without being delicate like lace. There was here less delicacy; the skin supported more callously the natural surface of events, the mind received more bravely the crude facts of human existence; but I 20 do not think that there was less effective refine- ment, less consideration for others, less polite sup- pression of self. I speak of the best among my fellow-passengers; for in the steerage, as well as in the saloon, there is a mixture. Those, then, with 2S whom I found myself in sympathy, and of whom I may therefore hope to write with a greater measure of truth, were not only as good in their manners, but endowed with very much the same natural capa- cities, and about as wise in deduction, as the bankers 30 and barristers of what is called society. One and Personal Experience and Review 57 all were too much interested in disconnected facts, and loved information for its own sake with too rash a devotion; but people in all classes display the same appetite as they gorge themselves daily with the miscellaneous gossip of the newspaper, s Newspaper reading, as far as I can make out, is often rather a sort of brown study than an act of culture. I have myself palmed off yesterday's issue on a friend, and seen him re-peruse it for a continu- ance of minutes with an air at once refreshed and m solemn. Workmen, perhaps, pay more attention ; but though they may be eager listeners, they have rarely seemed to me either willing or careful thinkers. Culture is not measured by the greatness of the field which is covered by our knowledge, but by the 15 nicety with which we can perceive relations in that field, whether great or small. Workmen, certainly those who were on board with me, I found wanting in this quality or habit of the mind. They did not perceive relations, but leaped to a so-called cause, 20 and thought the problem settled. Thus the cause of everything in England was the form of govern- ment, and the cure for all evils was, by consequence, a revolution. It is surprising how many of them said this, and that none should have had a definite as thought in his head as he said it. Some hated the Church because they disagreed with it; some hated Lord Beaconsfield because of war and taxes ; all hated the masters, possibly with reason. But these feelings were not at the root of the matter; the 30 58 Robert Louis Stevenson true reasoning of their souls ran thus — I have not got on; I ought to have got on; if there was a revolution I should get on. How ? They had no idea. Why ? Because — because — well, look at 5 America ! XI. To be politically blind is no distinction ; we are all so, if you come to that. At bottom, as it seems to me, there is but one question in modern home politics, though it appears in many shapes, 10 and that is the question of money ; and but one political remedy, that the people should grow wiser and better. My workmen fellow-passengers were as impatient and dull of hearing on the second of these points as any member of Parliament ; but IS they had some glimmerings of the first. They would not hear of improvement on their part, but wished the world made over again in a crack, so that they might remain improvident and idle and debauched, and yet enjoy the comfort and respect 2o that should accompany the opposite virtues ; and it was in this expectation, as far as I could see, that many of them were now on their way to America. But on the point of money they saw clearly enough that inland politics, so far as they were concerned, 25 were reducible to the question of annual income ; a question which should long ago have been settled by a revolution, they did not know how, and which they were now about to settle for themselves, once more they knew not how, by crossing the Atlantic 30 in a steamship of considerable tonnage. Personal Experience and Review 59 XII. And yet it has been amply shown them that the second or income question is in itself nothing, and may as well be left undecided, if there be no wisdom and virtue to profit by the change. It is not by a man's purse, but by his character, that he s is rich or poor. Barney will be poor, Alick will be poor, Mackay will be poor ; let them go where they will, and wreck all the governments under heaven, they will be poor until they die. XIII. Nothing is perhaps more notable in the 10 average workman than his surprising idleness, and the candour with which he confesses to the failing. It has to me been always something of a relief to find the poor, as a general rule, so little oppressed with work. I can in consequence enjoy my own is more fortunate beginning with a better grace. The other day I was living with a farmer in America, an old frontiersman, who had worked and fought, hunted and farmed, from his childhood up. He excused himself for his defective education on the 20 ground that he had been overworked from first to last. Even now, he said, anxious as he was, he had never the time to take up a book. In consequence of this, I observed him closely; he was occupied for four or, at the extreme outside, for five hours 25 out of the twenty-four, and then principally in walking ; and the remainder of the day he passed in horn idleness, either eating fruit or standing with his back against a door. I have known men do hard literary work all morning, and then undergo 3a 6o Robert Louis Stevenson quite as much physical fatigue by way of relief as satisfied this powerful frontiersman for the day. He, at least, like all the educated class, did so much homage to industry as to persuade himself he was S industrious. But the average mechanic recognizes his idleness with effrontery ; he has even, as I am told, organized it. XIV. I give the story as it was told me, and it was told me for a fact. A man fell from a house- lo top in the city of Aberdeen, and was brought into hospital with broken bones. He was asked what was his trade, and replied that he was a tapper. No one had ever heard of such a thing before ; the officials were filled with curiosity ; they be- is sought an explanation. It appeared that when a party of slaters were engaged upon a roof, they would now and then be taken with a fancy for the public-house. Now a seamstress, for example, might slip away from her work and no one be the wiser; 20 but if these fellows adjourned, the tapping of the mallets would cease, and thus the neighbourhood be advertised of their defection. Hence the career of the tapper. He has to do the tapping and keep up an industrious bustle on the housetop during the 2S absence of the slaters. When he taps for only one or two the thing is child's-play, but when he has to represent a whole troop, it is then that he earns his money in the sweat of his brow. Then must he bound from spot to spot, reduplicate, triplicate, 30 sexduplicate his single personality, and .swell and Personal Experience and Review 6i hasten his blows, until he produce a perfect illu- sion for the ear, and you would swear that a crowd of emulous masons were continuing merrily to roof the house. It must be a strange sight from an upper window. 5 XV. I heard nothing on board of the tapper; but I was astonished at the stories told by my companions. Skulking, shirking, malingering, were all established tactics, it appeared. They could see no dishonesty where a man who is paid for an lo hour's work gives half an hour's consistent idling in its place. Thus the tapper would refuse to watch for the police during a burglary, and call himself an honest man. It is not sufficiently recognized that our race detests to work. If I thought that I 15 should have to work every day of my life as hard as I am working now, I should be tempted to give up the struggle. And the workman early begins on his career of toil. He has never had his fill of holidays in the past, and his prospect of holidays 20 in the future is both distant and uncertain. In the circumstances, it would require a high degree of virtue not to snatch alleviations for the moment. XVI. There were many good talkers on the ship ; and I believe good talking of a certain sort is a com- 25 mon accomplishment among working men. Where books are comparatively scarce, a greater amount of information will be given and received by word of mouth ; and this tends to produce good talkers, and, what is no less needful for conversation, good 30 62 Robert Louis Stevenson listeners. They could all tell a story with effect. I am sometimes tempted to think that the less literary class show always better in narration ; they have so much more patience with detail, are so much, less s hurried to reach the points, and preserve so much juster a proportion among the facts. At the same time their talk is dry ; they pursue a topic plod- dingly, have not an agile fancy, do not throw sudden lights from unexpected quarters, and when the talk lo is over they often leave the matter where it was. They mark time instead of marching. They think only, to argue, not to reach new conclusions, and use their reason rather as a weapon of offence than as a tool for self-improvement. Hence the talk of IS some of the cleverest was unprofitable in result, because there was no give and take ; they would grant you as little as possible for premise, and begin to dispute under an oath to conquer or to die. XVII. But the talk of a workman is apt to be zo more interesting than that of a wealthy merchant, because the thoughts, hopes, and fears of which the workman's life is built lie nearer to necessity and nature. They are more immediate to human life. An income calculated by the week is a far more 25 human thing than one calculated by the year, and a small income, simply from its smallness, than a large one. I never wearied listening to the details of a workman's economy, because every item stood for some real pleasure. If he could afford pudding 30 twice a week, you know that twice a week the man Personal Experience and Review 63 ate with genuine gusto and was physically happy; while if you learn that a rich man has seven courses a day, ten to- one the half of them remain untasted, and the whole is but misspent money and a weari- ness to the flesh. 5 XVIII. The difference between England and America to a working man was thus most humanly put to me by a fellow-passenger: "In America," said he, "you get pies and puddings." I do not hear enough, in economy books, of pies and pudding. 10 A man lives in and for the delicacies, adornments, and accidental attributes of life, such as pudding to eat and pleasant books and theatres to occupy his leisure. The bare terms of existence would be re- jected with contempt by all. If a man feeds on 15 bread and butter, soup and porridge, his appetite grows wolfish after dainties. And the workman dwells in a borderland, and is always within sight of those cheerless regions where life is more difficult to sustain than worth sustaining. Every detail of 20 our existence, where it is worth while to cross the ocean after pie and pudding, is made alive and enthralling by the presence of genuine desire ; but it is all one to me whether Croesus has a hundred or a thousand thousands in the bank. There is 25 more adventure in the life of the working man who descends as a common soldier into the battle of life, than in that of the millionaire who sits apart in an office, like Von Moltke, and only directs the manoeuvres by telegraph. Give me to hear about 30 64 Robert Louis Stevenson the career of him who is in the thick of the busi- ness ; to whom one change of market means an empty belly, and another a copious and savoury meal. This is not the philosophical, but the human ; side of economics ; it interests like a story ; and the life of all'who are thus situated partakes in a small way of the charm of Robinson Crusoe ; for every step is critical, and ,human life is presented to you naked and verging to its lowest terms. Ill Sofjn iHorleg Born 1838 MACAULAY [Mr. Morley's essay appeared in the April number of the Fortnightly Review for 1876. It was afterwards printed as one of a volume of essays, and is now to be found, with the omission of one paragraph, in Volume I. of the Critical Miscellanies, published by Messrs. Macmillan and Company, from which the text is here taken. As the author says in the opening paragraph, tl>e essay was written in anticipation of the appearance of the Life and Letters of Lord Macaulay.'] I. "After glancing my eye over the design and order of a new book," says Gibbon, "I suspended the perusal till I had finished the task of self- examination, till I had revolved in a solitary walk all that I knew or believed or had thought on the subject of the whole work or of some particular chapter ; I was then qualified to discern how much the author added to my original stock ; and if I was sometimes satisfied by the agreement, I was sometimes warned by the opposition of our ideas." It is also told of Strafford that before reading any book for the first time, he would call for a sheet of paper, and then proceed to write down upon it F 65 66 John Morley some sketch of the ideas that he already had upon the subject of the book, and of the questions that he expected to find answered. No one who has been at the pains to try the experiment, will doubt 5 the usefulness of this practice : it gives to our acquisitions from books clearness and reality, a right place and an independent shape. At this moment we are all looking for the biography of an illustrious man of letters,^ written by a near lo kinsman, who is himself naturally endowed with keen literary interests, and who has invigorated his academic cultivation by practical engagement in considerable affairs of public business. Before tak- ing up Mr. Trevelyan's two volumes, it is perhaps 15 worth while, on Strafford's plan, to ask ourselves shortly what kind of significance or value belongs to Lord Macaulay's achievements, and to what place he has a claim among the forces of English literature. It is seventeen years since he died, 20 and those of us who never knew him nor ever saw him, may now think about his work with that per- fect detachment which is impossible in the case of actual contemporaries.^ 1 The Life and Letters of Lord Macaulay, by his nephew, George Otto Trevelyan, appeared in 1876. 2 Since the following piece was written, Mr, Trevelyan's biography of Lord Macaulay has appeared, and has enjoyed the great popularity to which its careful execution, its brightness of style, its good taste, its sound judgment, so richly entitle it. If Mr. Trevelyan's course in poli- tics were not so useful as it is, one might be tempted to regret that he had not chosen literature for the main field of his career. The portrait which he draws of Lord Macaulay is so irresistibly attractive in many Macaulay 6'/ II. That Macaulay comes in the very front rank in the mind of the ordinary bookbuyer of our day is quite certain. It is an amusement with some people to put an imaginary case of banishment to a desert island, with the privilege of choosing the i works of one author, and no more than one, to furnish literary companionship and refreshment for the rest of a lifetime. Whom would one select for this momentous post ? Clearly the author must be voluminous, for days on desert islands are many and lo long ; he must be varied in his moods, his topics, and his interests ; he must have a great deal to say, and must have a power of saying it that shall arrest a depressed and dolorous spirit. English- men, of course, would with mechanical unanimity call 15 for Shakespeare ; Germans could hardly hesitate about Goethe; and a sensible Frenchman would pack up the ninety volumes of Voltaire. It would be at least as interesting to know the object of a second choice, supposing the tyrant in his clem- za ency to give us two authors. In the case of Eng- lishmen there is some evidence as to a popular preference. A recent traveller in Australia informs ways, that a critic may be glad to have delivered his soul before his judgment was subject to a dangerous bias, by the picture of Macaulay's personal character — its domestic amiability, its benevolence to unlucky followers of letters, its manliness, its high public spirit and generous patriotism. On reading my criticism over again, I am well pleased to find that not an epithet needs to be altered, — so independent is opinion as to this strong man's work, of our esteem for his loyal and upright character. — MorUy. 68 John Morley us that the three books which he found on every squatter's shelf, and which at last he knew before he crossed the threshold that he should be sure to find, were Shakespeare, the Bible, and Macaulay's s Essays. This is only an illustration of a feeling about Macaulay that has been almost universal among the English-speaking peoples. III. We may safely say that no man obtains and keeps for a great many years such a position as this, lo unless he is possessed of some very extraordinary qualities, or else of common qualities in a very un- common and extraordinary degree. The world, s^ys Goethe, is more willing to endure the Incongruous than to be patient under the Insignificant. Even IS those who set least value on what Macaulay does for his readers, may still feel bound to distinguish the elements that have given him his vast popularity. The inquiry is not a piece of merely literary criticism, for it is impossible that the work of so imposing a 20 writer should have passed through the hands of every man and woman of his time who has even the hum- blest pretensions to cultivation, without leaving a very decided mark on their habits both of thought and expression. As a plain matter of observation, 2S it is impossible to take up a newspaper or a review, for instance, without perceiving Macaulay's influence both in the style and the temper of modern journal- ism, and journalism in its turn acts upon the style and temper of its enormous uncounted public. The 30 man who now succeeds in catching the ear of the Macaulay 69 writers of leading articles, is in the position that used to be held by the head of some great theological school, whence disciples swarmed forth to reproduce in ten thousand pulpits the arguments, the opinions, the images, the tricks, the postures, and the manner- s isms of a single master. IV. Two men of very different kinds have thor- oughly impressed the journalists of our time, Ma- caulay and Mr. Mill.^ Mr. Carlyle we do not add to them ; he is, as the Germans call Jean Paul, der 10 Einzige. And he is a poet, while the other two are in their degrees serious and argumentative writers, dealing in different ways with the great topics that constitute the matter and business of daily discus- ' sion. They are both of them practical enough to 15 interest men handling real affairs, and yet they are general or theoretical enough to supply such men with the large and ready commonplaces which are so useful to a profession that has to produce literary graces and philosophical decorations at an hour's 20 notice. It might perhaps be said of these two dis- tinguished men that our public writers owe most of their virtues to the one, and most of their vices to the other. If Mill taught some of them to reason, Macaulay tempted more of them to declaim : if Mill 25 set an example of patience, tolerance, and fair ex- amination of hostile opinions, Macaulay did much to ' It should be borne in mind that Mill and Carlyle were alive at the time of writing the essay (1876); hence the title Mr. was properly added to their names. 70 John Morley encourage oracular arrogance, and a rather too thra- sonical complacency ; if Mill sowed ideas of the great economic, political, and moral bearings of the forces of society, Macaulay trained a taste for superficial 5 particularities, trivial circumstantialities of local colour, and all the paraphernalia of the pseudo- picturesque. V. Of course nothing so obviously untrue is meant as that this is an account of Macaulay's own quality. lo What is empty pretension in the leading article, was often a warranted self-assertion in Macaulay; what in it is little more than testiness, is in him often a generous indignation. What became and still remain in those who have made him their model, substan- 15 tive and organic vices, the foundation of literary character and intellectual temper, were in him the incidental defects of a vigorous genius. And we have to take a man of his power and vigour with all his drawbacks, for the one are wrapped up in so the other. Charles Fox used to apply to Burke a passage that Quintilian wrote about Ovid. " Si animi sui affectibus temperare quam indulgere ma- luisset," quoted Fox, "quid vir iste praestare non potuerit!"* But this is really not at all certain as either of Ovid, or Burke, or any one else. It suits moralists to tell us that excellence lies in the happy mean and nice balance of our faculties and impulses, and perhaps in so far as our own contentment and * [Had that man chosen rather to temper bis will than to indulge it, in what might he nut have excelled !] Macaulay 71 an easy passage through life are involved, what they tell us is true. But for making a mark in the world, for rising to supremacy in art or thought or affairs — whatever those aims may be worth — a man pos- sibly does better to indulge, rather than to chide 5 or grudge, his genius, and to pay the penalties for his weakness, rather than run any risk of mutilating those strong faculties of which they happen to be an inseparable accident. Versatility is not a uni- versal gift among the able men of the world; not 10 many of them have so many gifts of the spirit, as to be free to choose by what pass they will climb "the steep where Fame's proud temple shines afar." If Macaulay had applied himself to the cultivation of a balanced judgment, of tempered phrases, and 15 of relative propositions, he would probably have sunk into an impotent tameness. A great pugilist has sometimes been converted from the error of his ways, and been led zealously to cherish gospel graces, but the hero's discourses have seldom had the notes 20 of unction and edification. Macaulay divested of all the exorbitancies of his spirit and his style, would have been a Samson shorn of the locks of his strength. VI. Although, however, a writer of marked qual- ity may do well to let his genius develop its spon- 25 taneous forces without too assiduous or vigilant re- pression, trusting to other writers of equal strength in other directions, and to the general fitness of things and operation of time, to redress the bal- ance, still it is the task of criticism in counting up 30 72 John Morley the contributions of one of these strong men to examine the mischiefs no less than the benefits incident to their work. There is no puny carping nor cavilling in the process. It is because such s men are strong that they are able to do harm ; they may injure the taste and judgment of a whole generation, just because they are never mediocre. That is implied in strength. Macaulay is not to be measured now merely as if he were the author of lo a new book. His influence has been a distinct literary force, and in an age of reading, this is to be a distinct force in deciding the temper, the process, the breadth, of men's opinions, no less than the manner of expressing them. It is no new IS observation that the influence of an author becomes in time something apart from his books : a certain generalised or abstract personality impresses itself on our minds, long after we have forgotten the details of his opinions, the arguments by which hp 20 enforced them, and even, what are usually the last to escape us, the images by which he illustrated them. Phrases and sentences are a mask : but we detect the features of the man behind the mask. This personality of a favourite author is a real and 25 powerful agency. Unconsciously we are infected with his humours ; we apply his methods ; we find ourselves copying the rhythm and measure of his periods ; we wonder how he would have acted, or thought, or spoken in our circumstances. Usually 3P a strong writer leaves a special mark in some par- Macaulay 73 ticular region of mental activity: the final product of him is to fix some persistent religious mood, or some decisive intellectual bias, or else some trick of the tongue. Now Macaulay has contributed no philosophic ideas to the speculative stock, nor has s he developed any one great historic or social truth. His work is always full of a high spirit of manli- ness, probity, and honour ; but he is not of that small band to whom we may apply Mackintosh's thrice and four times enviable panegyric on the lo eloquence of Dugald Stewart, that its peculiar glory consisted in having "breathed the love of virtue into whole generations of pupils." He has painted many striking pictures, and imparted a certain real- ity to our conception of many great scenes of the is past. He did good service in banishing once for all those sentimental Jacobite leanings and prejudices which had been kept alive by the sophistry of the most popular^ of historians, and the imagination of the most popular^ of romance writers. But where zo he set his stamp has been upon style ; style in its widest sense, not merely on the grammar and mechanism of writing, but on what De Quincey described as its organology;"^ style, that is to say, in its relation to ideas and feelings, its commerce 25 with thought, and its reaction on what one may call the temper or conscience of the intellect. 6 David Hume. « Sir Walter Scott. ' For De Quincey's tlieory of the mechanology and the organology of style, see his essay on Style, Part I. 74 John Morley VII. Let no man suppose that it matters little whether the most universally popular of the serious authors of a generation — and Macaulay was nothing less than this — affects style coupi or style soutenu^ S The critic of style is not the dancing-master, declaim- ing on the deep ineffable things that lie in a minuet. He is not the virtuoso of supines and gerundives. The morality of style goes deeper "than dull fools suppose." When Comte took pains to prevent any lo sentence from exceeding two lines of his manuscript or five of print ; to restrict every paragraph to seven sentences ; to exclude every hiatus between two sentences, or even between two paragraphs ; and never to reproduce any word, except the auxiliary IS monosyllables, in two consecutive sentences ; he jus- tified his literary solicitude by insisting on the whole- someness alike to heart and intelligence of submission to artificial institutions. He felt, after he had once mastered the habit of the new yoke, that it became ao the source of continual and unforeseeable improve- ments even in thought, and he perceived that the reason why verse is a higher kind of literary per- fection than prose, is that verse imposes a greater number of rigorous forms. We may add that verse 2s itself is perfected, in the hands of men of poetic genius, in proportion to the severity of this mechan- 8 Style coupe is, technically, that style in which the various so-called elements, particularly the sentences, are, so far as possible, independent of one another. In style sotilenu there is a closer binding of phrases and sentences, both organically and by conjunctions. Macaulay 75 ical regulation. Where Pope or Racine had one rule of metre, Victor Hugo has twenty, and he observes them as rigorously as an algebraist or an astronomer observes the rules of calculation or dem- onstration. One, then, who touches the style of a q generation acquires no trifling authority over its thought and temper, as well as over the length of its sentences. VIII. The first and most obvious secret of Macaulay's place on popular bookshelves is that he 10 has a true genius for narration, and narration will always in the eyes, not only of our squatters in the Australian bush, but of the many all over the world, stand first among literary gifts. The common run of plain men, as has been noticed since the begin- 15 ning of the world, are as eager as children for a story, and like children they will embrace the man who will tell them a story, with abundance of details and plenty of colour, and a realistic assurance that it is no mere make-believe. Macaulay never stops 20 to brood over an incident or a character, with an inner eye intent on penetrating to the lowest depth of motive and cause, to the furthest complexity of impulse, calculation, and subtle incentive. The spirit of analysis is not in him, and the divine spirit 25 of meditation is not in him. His whole mind runs in action and movement ; it busies itself with eager interest in all objective particulars. He is seized by the external and the superficial, and revels in •]& John Morley every detail that appeals to the five senses. "The brilliant Macaulay," said Emerson, with slight exag- geration, "who expresses the tone of the English governing classes of the day, explicitly teaches that 5 good means good to eat, good to wear, material commodity." So ready a faculty of exultation in the exceeding great glories of taste and touch, of loud sound and glittering spectacle, is a gift of the utmost service to the narrator who craves immense lo audiences. Let it be said that if Macaulay exults in the details that go to our five senses, his sensuous- ness is always clean, manly, and fit for honest day- light and the summer sun. There is none of that curious odour of autumnal decay that clings to the pas- is sion of a more modern school for colour and flavour and the enumerated treasures of subtle indulgence. IX. Mere picturesqueness, however, is a minor qualification compared with another quality which everybody assumes himself to have, but which is in 20 reality extremely uncommon ; the quality, I mean, of telling a tale directly and in straightforward order. . In speaking of Hallam,® Macaulay complained that Gibbon had brought into fashion an unpleasant trick of telling a story by implication and allusion. This zs provoking obliquity has certainly increased rather than declined since Hallam's day. Mr. Froude, it is true, whatever may be his shortcomings on the side of sound moral and political judgment, has admirable gifts in the way of straightforward narra- ' See the review entitled Ifallam's Constitutional History. Macaulay "jj tion, and Mr. Freeman, when he does not press too hotly after emphasis, and abstains from overloading his account with superabundance of detail, is usually excellent in the way of direct description. Still, it is not merely because these two writers are alive s and Macaulay is not, that most people would say of him that he is unequalled in our time in his mastery of the art of letting us know in an express and un- mistakable way exactly what it was that happened ; though it is quite true that in many portions of lo his too elaborated History of William the Third he describes a large number of events about which, I think, no sensible man can in the least care either how they happened, or whether indeed they hap- pened at all or not. is X. Another reason why people have sought Ma- caulay is, that he has in one way or another some- thing to tell them about many of the most striking personages and interesting events in the history of mankind. And he does really tell them something. 20 If any one will be at the trouble to count up the number of those names that belong to the world and time, about which Macaulay has found not merely something, but something definite and pointed to say, he will be astonished to see how large a portion 25 of the wide historic realm is traversed in that ample flight of reference, allusion, and illustration, and what unsparing copiousness of knowledge gives substance, meaning, and attraction to that resplendent blaze of rhetoric. 3° 78 John Morley XI. Macaulay came upon the world of letters^" just as the middle classes were expanding into enor- mous prosperity, were vastly increasing in numbers, and were becoming more alive than they had ever s been before to literary interests. His Essays are as good as a library : they make an incomparable manual and vade-mecum for a busy uneducated man, who has curiosity and enlightenment enough to wish to know a little about the great lives and great 10 thoughts, the shining words and many-coloured com- plexities of action, that have marked the journey of man through the ages. Macaulay had an intimate acquaintance both, with the imaginative literature and the history of Greece and Rome, with the litera- ls ture and the history of modern Italy, of France, and of England. Whatever his special subject, he con- trives to pour into it with singular dexterity a stream of rich, graphic, and telling illustrations from all these widely diversified sources. Figures from his- 20 tory, ancient and modern, sacred and secular ; char- acters from plays and novels from Plautus down to Walter Scott and Jane Austen ; images and similes from poets of every age and every nation, " pastoral, pastoral-comical, historical-pastoral, tragical-histori- 25 cal ; " shrewd thrusts from satirists, wise saws from sages, pleasantries caustic or pathetic from humorists ; all these throng Macaulay's pages with the bustle and variety and animation of some glittering masque 1" The Essay on Milton appeared in 1825 in the Edinburgh Reviea and won great favor for its young author. Macaulay 79 and cosmoramic revel of great books and heroical men. Hence, though Macaulay was in mental con- stitution one of the very least Shakesperean writers that ever lived, yet he has the Shakesperean quality of taking his reader through an immense gallery of ; interesting characters and striking situations. No writer can now expect to attain the widest popularity as a man of letters unless he gives to the world multa as well as multum. Sainte-Beuve, the most eminent man of letters in France in our generation, wrote 10 no less than twenty-seven volumes of his incompara- ble Causeries. Mr. Carlyle, the most eminent man of letters in England in our generation, has taught us that silence is golden in thirty volumes. Macau- lay was not so exuberantly copious as these two illus- 15 trious writers, but he had the art of being as various without being so voluminous. XII. There has been a great deal of deliberate and systematic imitation of Macaulay's style, often by clever men who might well have trusted to their 20 own resources. Its most conspicuous vices are very easy to imitate, but it is impossible for any one who is less familiar with literature than Macaulay was, to reproduce his style effectively, for the reason that it is before all else the style of great literary knowl- 2: edge. Nor is that all. Macaulay's knowledge was not only very wide ; it was both thoroughly accurate and instantly ready. For this stream of apt illustra- tions he was indebted to his extraordinary memory, and his rapid eye for contrasts and analogies. They 30 8o John Morley come to the end of his pen as he writes ; they are not laboriously hunted out in indexes, and then added by way of afterthought and extraneous interpolation. Hence quotations and references that in a writer s even of equal knowledge, but with his wits less promptly about him, would seem mechanical and awkward, find their place in a page of Macaulay as if by a delightful process of complete assimilation and spontaneous fusion. lo XIII. We may be sure that no author could have achieved Macaulay's boundless popularity among his contemporaries, unless his work had abounded in what is substantially Commonplace. Addison puts fine writing in sentiments that are IS natural without being obvious, and this is a true account of the " law " of the exquisite literature of the Queen Anne men. We may perhaps add to Addison's definition, that the great secret of the best kind of popularity is always the noble or so imaginative handling of Commonplace. Shake- speare may at first seem an example to the con- trary ; and indeed is it not a standing marvel that the greatest writer of a nation that is distinguished among all nations for the pharisaism, puritanism, 25 and unimaginative narrowness of its judgments on conduct and type of character, should be paramount over all writers for the breadth, maturity, fulness, subtlety, and infinite variousness of his conception of human life and nature .' One possible answer Macaulay 8 1 to the perplexity is that the .puritanism does not go below the surface in us, and that Englishmen are not really limited in their view by the too strait formulas that are supposed to contain their explanations of the moral universe. On this theory s the popular appreciation of Shakespeare is the irre- pressible response of the hearty inner man to a voice, in which he recognises the full note of human nature, and those wonders of the world which are not dreamt of in his professed philosophy. A more obvi- lo ous answer than this is that Shakespeare's popularity with the many is not due to those finer glimpses that are the very essence of all poetic delight to the few, but to his thousand other magnificent attractions, and above all, after his skill as a pure 'S dramatist and master of scenic interest and situa- tion, to the lofty or pathetic setting with which he vivifies, not the subtleties or refinements, but the commonest and most elementary traits of the com- monest and most elementary human moods. The 20 few with minds touched by nature or right cultiva- tion to the finer issues, admire the supreme genius which takes some poor Italian tale, with its coarse plot and gross personages, and shooting it through with threads of variegated meditation, produces a 25 masterpiece of penetrative reflection and high pen- sive suggestion as to the deepest things and most secret parts of the life of men. But to the gen- eral these finer threads are indiscernible. What touches them in the Shakesperean poetry, and most 30 82 John Morley rightly touches them»and us all, are topics eternally old, yet of eternal freshness, the perennial truisms of the grave and the bride-chamber, of shifting fortune, of the surprises of destiny, and the empti- s ness of the answered vow. This is the region in which the poet wins his widest if not his hardest triumphs, the region of the noble Commonplace. XIV. A writer dealing with such matters as principally occupied Macaulay, has not the privi- lo lege of resort to these great poetic inspirations. Yet history, too, has its generous commonplaces, its plausibilities of emotion, and no one has ever delighted more than Macaulay did, to appeal to the , fine truisms that cluster round love of freedom IS and love of native land. The high rhetorical topics of liberty and patriotism are his readiest instru- ments for kindling a glowing reflection of these magnanimous passions in the breasts of his read- ers. That Englishman is hardly to be envied who 20 can read without a glow such passages as that in the History, about Turenne being startled by the shout of stern exultation with which his English allies advanced to the combat, and expressing the delight of a true soldier when he learned that it as was ever the fashion of Cromwell's pikemen to rejoice greatly when they beheld the enemy ; while even the banished cavaliers felt, an emotion of national pride when they saw a brigade of their countrymen, outnumbered by foes and abandoned 30 by friends, drive before it in headlong rout the Macaulay 83 finest infantry of Spain, and force a passage into a counter-scarp which had just been pronounced impregnable by the ablest of the marshals of France.^^ Such prose as this is not less thrilling to a man who loves his country, than the spirited s verse of the Vays of Ancient Rome. And the com- monplaces of patriotism and freedom would never have been so powerful in Macaulay's hands, if they had not been inspired by a sincere and hearty faith in them in the soul of the writer. His unanalyti- 10 cal turn of mind kept him free of any temptation to think of love of country as a prejudice, or a pas- sion for freedom as an illusion. The cosmopolitan or international idea which such teachers as Cob- den have tried to impress on our stubborn island- 15 ers, would have found in Macaulay not lukewarm or sceptical adherence, but point-blank opposition and denial. He believed as stoutly in the suprem- acy of Great Britain in the history of the good causes of Europe, as M. Thiers believes in the zo supremacy of France, or Mazzini beUeved in that of Italy. The thought of the prodigious industry, the inventiveness, the stout enterprise, the free government, the wise and equal laws, the noble literature, of this fortunate island and its majestic 23 empire beyond the seas, and the discretion, valour, and tenacity by which all these great material and " History, Chapter I. The sentence from " Turenne " to the period is taken directly from Macaulay with the change of one or two connec- tive words. 84 John Morley still greater intangible possessions had been first won, and then kept, against every hostile comer whether domestic or foreign, sent through Macaulay a thrill, like that which the thought of Paris and s its heroisms moves in the great poet of France,^ or sight of the dear city of the Violet Crown moved in an Athenian of old. Thus habitually, with all sincerity of heart, to offer to one of the greater popu- lar prepossessions the incense due to any other idol 10 of superstition, sacred and of indisputable authority, and to let this adoration be seen shining in every page, is one of the keys that every man must find, who would make a quick and sure way into the temple of contemporary fame. IS XV. It is one of the first things to be said about Macaulay, that he was in exact accord with the com- mon average sentiment of his day on every subject on which he spoke. His superiority was not of that highest kind which leads a man to march in thought 20 on the outside margin of the crowd, watching them, sympathising with them, hoping for them, but apart. Macaulay was one of the middle-class crowd in his heart, and only rose above it by splendid attainments and extraordinary gifts of expression. He had none 25 of that ambition which inflames some hardy men, to make new beliefs and new passions enter the minds of their neighbours ; his ascendency is due to liter- ary pomp, not to fecundity of spirit. No one has ever surpassed him in the art of combining resolute '^ Victor Hugo. Macaulay 85 and ostentatious common sense of a slightly coarse sort in choosing his point of view, with so considera- ble an appearance of dignity and elevation in setting it forth and impressing it upon others. The elabo- rateness of his style is very likely to mislead people s into imagining for him a corresponding elaborate- ness of thought and sentiment. On the contrary, Macaulay's mind was really very simple, strait, and with as few notes in its register, to borrow a phrase from the language of vocal compass, as there are few 10 notes, though they are very loud, in the register of his written prose. When we look more closely into it, what at first wore the air of dignity and elevation, in truth rather disagreeably resembles the narrow assurance of a man who knows that he has with him 15 the great battalions of public opinion. We are al- ways quite sure that if Macaulay had been an Athe- nian citizen towards the ninety-fifth Olympiad, he would have taken sides with Anytus and Meletus in the impeachment of Socrates. A popular author 20 must, in a thorough -going way, take the accepted maxims for granted. He must suppress any whimsi- cal fancy for applying the Socratic elenchus,^ or any other engine of criticism, scepticism, or verification, to those sentiments or current precepts of morals, 25 which may in truth be very equivocal and may be much neglected in practice, but which the public opinion of his time requires to be treated in theory 1' A form of syllogism. Here, the method used by Socrates in re- futing the false reasoning of the Sophists. 86 John Morley and in literature as if they had been cherished and held sacred semper, ubique, et ab omnibus. XVI. This is just what Macaulay does, and it is commonly supposed to be no heavy fault in him or S any other writer for the common public. Man can- not live by analysis alone, nor nourish himself on the secret delights of irony. And if Macaulay had only reflected the more generous of the prejudices of man- kind, it would have been well enough. Burke, for lo instance, was a writer who revered the prejudices of a modern society as deeply as Macaulay did ; he be- lieved society to be founded on prejudices and held compact by them. Yet what size there is in Burke, what fine perspective, what momentum, what edifica- is tion ! It may be pleaded that there is the literature of edification, and there is the literature of knowl- edge, and that the qualities proper to the one cannot lawfully be expected from the other, and would only be very much out of place if they should happen to 20 be found there. But there are two answers to this. First, Macaulay in the course of his varied writings discusses all sorts of ethical and other matters, and is not simply a chronicler of party and intrigue, of dynasties and campaigns. Second, and more than 25 this, even if he had never travelled beyond the com- position of historical record, he could still have sown his pages, as does every truly great writer, no mat- ter what his subject may be, with those significant images or far-reaching suggestions, which suddenly 30 light up a whole range of distant thoughts and sym- Macaulay if pathies within us ; which in an instant affect the sensibilities of men with a something new and unfore- seen ; and which awaken, if only for a passing mo- ment, the faculty and response of the diviner mind. Tacitus does all this, and Burke does it, and that is 5 why men who care nothing for Roman despots or for Jacobin despots, will still perpetually turn to those writers almost as if they were on the level of great poets or very excellent spiritual teachers. XVII. One secret is that they, and all such men 10 as they were, had that of which Macaulay can hardly have had the rudimentary germ, the faculty of deep abstract meditation and surrender to the fruitful "leisures of the spirit." We can picture Macaulay talking, or making a speech in the House of Com- 15 mons, or buried in a book, or scouring his library for references, or covering his blue foolscap with dashing periods, or accentuating his sentences and barbing his phrases ; but can anybody think of him as meditating, as modestly pondering and wondering, 20 as possessed for so much as ten minutes by that spirit of inwardness, which has never been wholly wanting in any of those kings and princes of litera- ture with whom it is good for men to sit in coun- sel.' He seeks Truth, not as she should be sought, 25 devoutly, tentatively, and with the air of one touch- ing the hem of a sacred garment, but clutching her by the hair of the head and dragging her after him in a kind of boisterous triumph, a prisoner of war and not a goddess. 3° 88 John Morley XVIII. All this finds itself reflected, as the inner temper of a man always is reflected, in his style of written prose. The merits of Macaulay's prose are obvious enough. It naturally reproduces the good s qualities of his understanding, its strength, manU- ness, and directness. That exultation in material goods and glories of which we have already spoken, makes his pages rich in colour, and gives them the effect of a sumptuous gala-suit. Certainly the bro- lo cade is too brand-new, and has none of the delicate charm that comes to such finery when it is a little faded. Again, nobody can have any excuse for not knowing exactly what it is that Macaulay means. We may assuredly say of his prose what Boileau IS says of his own poetry — " Et mon vers, bien ou mal, dit toUjours quelque chose." ^* This is a pro- digious merit, when we reflect with what fatal alac- rity human language lends itself in the hands of so many performers upon the pliant instrument, to all 20 sorts of obscurity, ambiguity, disguise, and preten- tious mystification. Scaliger is supposed to have remarked of the Basques and their desperate tongue : "'Tis said the Basques understand one another; for my part, I will never believe it." The same pun- 25 gent doubt might apply to loftier members of the hierarchy of speech than that forlorn dialect, but never to English as handled by Macaulay. He never wrote an obscure sentence in his life, and '* [And my verse, whether good or bad, always has something to say.] Macaulay 89 this may seem a small merit, until we remember of how few writers we could say the same. XIX. Macaulay is of those who think prose as susceptible of poHshed and definite form as verse, and he was, we should suppose, of those also who s hold the type and mould of all written language to be spoken language. There are more reasons for de- murring to the soundness of the latter doctrine than can conveniently be made to fill a digression here. For one thing, spoken language necessarily implies 10 one or more listeners, whereas written language may often have to express meditative moods and trains of inward reflection that move through the mind without trace of external reference, and that would lose their special traits by the introduction 15 of any suspicion that they were to be overheard. Again, even granting that all composition must be supposed to be meant, by the fact of its existence, to be addressed to a body of readers, it still re- mains to be shown that indirect address to the 20 inner ear should follow the same method and rhythm as address directly through impressions on the outer organ. The attitude of the recipient mind is different, and there is the symbolism of a new medium between it and the speaker. The writer, 25 being cut off from all those effects which are pro- ducible by the physical intonations of the voice, has to find substitutes for them by other means, by subtler cadences, by a more varied modulation, by firmer notes, by more complex circuits, than suffice 30 90 John Morley for the utmost perfection of spoken language, which has all thfe potent and manifold aids of personality. In writing, whether it be prose or verse, you are free to produce effects whose peculiarity one can s only define vaguely, by saying that the senses have one part less in them than in any other of the forms and effects of art, and the imaginary voice one part more. But the question need not be laboured here, because there can be no dispute as lo to the quality of Macaulay's prose. Its measures are emphatically the measures of spoken deliver- ance. Those who have made the experiment, pro- nounce him to be one of the authors whose works are most admirably fitted for reading aloud. His IS firmness and directness of statement, his spirited- ness, his art of selecting salient and highly coloured detail, and all his other merits as a narrator, keep the listener's attention, and make him the easiest of writers to follow. ao XX. Although, however, clearness, directness, and positiveness are master qualities and the indispen- sable foundations of all good style, yet does the matter plainly by no means end with them. And it is even possible to have these virtues so unhap- 2S pily proportioned and inauspiciously mixed with other turns and casts of mind, as to end in work with little ^ grace or harmony or fine tracery about it, but only overweening purpose and vehement will. And it is overweeningness and self-confident will that are 30 the chief notes of Macaulay's style. It has no Macaulay 91 benignity. Energy is doubtless a delightful quality, but then Macaulay's energy is perhaps energy with- out momentum, and he impresses us more by a strong volubility than by volume. It is the energy of interests and intuitions, which though they are s profoundly sincere if ever they were sincere in any man, are yet in the relations which they compre- hend, essentially superficial. XXI. Still, trenchancy whether in speaker or writer is a most effective tone for a large public. 10 It gives them confidence in their man, and prevents tediousness — except to those who reflect how deli- cate is the poise of truth, and what steeps and pits encompass the dealer in unqualified propositions. To such persons, a writer who is trenchant in 15 every sentence of every page, who never lapses for a line into the contingent, who marches through the intricacies of things in a blaze of certainty, is not only a writer to be distrusted, but the owner of a doubtful and displeasing style. It is a great test 20 of style to watch how an author disposes of the qualifications, limitations, and exceptions that clog the wings of his main proposition. The grave and conscientious men of the seventeenth century in- sisted on packing them all honestly along with the 25 main proposition itself, within the bounds of a single period. Burke arranges them in tolerably close order in the paragraph. Dr. Newman, that winning writer, disperses them lightly over his page. Of Macaulay it is hardly unfair to say that he despatches 30 g2 John Morley all qualifications into outer space before he begins to write, or if he magnanimously admits one or two here and there, it is only to bring them the more imposingly to the same murderous end. s XXII. We have spoken of Macaulay's interests and intuitions wearing a certain air of superficiality; there is a feeling of the same kind about his attempts to be genial. It is not truly festive. There is no abandonment in it. It has no deep root in moral lo humour, and is merely a literary form, resembling nothing so much as the hard geniality of some clever college tutor of stiff manners, entertaining under- graduates at an official breakfast-party. This is not because his tone is bookish ; on the contrary, his IS tone and level are distinctly those of the man of the world. But one always seems to find that neither a wide range of cultivation, nor familiar access to the best Whig ^^ circles, had quite removed the stiffness and self-conscious precision of the Clap- ao ham Sect.i^ We would give much for a little more flexibility, and would welcome ever so slight a con- sciousness of infirmity. As has been said, the only '5 The Whig party was founded in the latter part of the seventeenth century. It stood for the more liberal spirit in politics, favoured the Revolution of 1 688, and the Reform Bill of 1832, since which time the name has been more commonly Liberal. The party was made up largely of the middle classes, and. has contained such men as Burke and, under the name Liberal, Mr. Gladstone. 1^ Macaulay had been brought up by his parents among the so- called " Clapham Sect," which took its name from the suburb of Lon- don in which its members lived. The latter were noted for the strictness and austerity of their manner of life. Macaulay 93 people whom men cannot pardon are the perfect. Macaulay is like the military king who never suf- fered himself to be seen, even by the attendants in his bed-chamber, until he had had time to put on his uniform and jack-boots. His severity of eye is s very wholesome ; it makes his writing firm, and firmness is certainly one of the first qualities that good writing must have. But there is such a thing as soft and considerate precision, as well as hard and scolding precision. Those most interesting 10 English critics of the generation slightly anterior to Macaulay, — Hazlitt, Lamb, De Quincey, Leigh Hunt,^^ — were fully his equals in precision, and yet they knew how to be clear, acute, and definite, with- out that edginess and inelasticity which is so con- 15 spicuous in Macaylay's criticisms, alike in their matter and their form. XXIII. To borrow the figure of an old writer, Macaulay's prose is not like a flowing vestment to his thought, but like a suit of armour. It is often 20 splendid and glittering, and the movement of the opening pages of his History is superb in its dig- nity. But that movement is exceptional. As a rule there is the hardness, if there is also often the sheen, of highly-wrought metal. Or, to change our figure, 25 his pages are composed as a handsome edifice is 1' Lamb, the oldest of the group, was born in 1775, twenty-five years before Macaulay. De Quincey and Leigh Hunt, the last survivors of the group, died in 1859, the year of Macaulay's death, but, unlike him, were not cut off in the midst of their greatest literary work. 94 John Morley reared, not as a fine statue or a frieze "with bossy sculptures graven " grows up in the imaginative mind of the statuary. There is no liquid continu- ity, such as indicates a writer possessed by his s subject and not merely possessing it. The periods are marshalled in due order of procession, bright and high-stepping ; they never escape under an impulse of emotion into the full current of a brimming stream. What is curious is that though Macaulay 10 seems ever to be brandishing a two-edged gleaming sword, and though he steeps us in an atmosphere of belligerency, yet we are never conscious of inward agitation in him, and perhaps this alone would debar him from a place among the greatest writers. For IS they, under that reserve, suppression, or manage- ment, which is an indispensable condition of the finest rhetorical art, even when aiming at the most passionate effects, still succeed in conveying to their readers a thrilling sense of the strong fires that are zo glowing underneath. Now when Macaulay advances with his hectoring sentences and his rough pistol- ling ways, we feel all the time that his pulse is as steady as that of the most practised duellist who ever ate fire. He is too cool to be betrayed into a 2S single phrase of happy improvisation. His pictures glare, but are seldom warm. Those strokes of minute circumstantiality which he loved so dearly, show that even in moments when his imagination might seem to be moving both spontaneously and 30 ardently, it was really only a literary instrument, a Macau lay 95 fashioning tool and not a melting flame. Let us take a single example. He is describing the trial of Warren Hastings.^* " Every step in the proceed- ings," he says, " carried the mind either backward through many troubled centuries to the days when s the foundations of our constitution were laid ; or far away over boundless seas and deserts, to dusky nations living under strange stars, worshipping strange gods, and writing strange characters from right to left." The odd triviality of the last detail, 10 its unworthiness of the sentiment of the passage, leaves the reader checked, what sets out as a fine stroke of imagination dwindles down to a sort of literary conceit. And this puerile twist, by the way, is all the poorer, when it is considered that 15 the native writing is really from left to right, and only takes the other direction in a foreign, that is to say, a Persian alphabet. And so in other places, even where the writer is most deservedly admired for gorgeous picturesque effect, we feel that it is only 20 the Hterary picturesque, a kind of infinitely glori- fied newspaper-reporting. Compare, for instance, the most imaginative piece to be found in any part of Macaulay's writings with that sudden and lovely apostrophe in Carlyle, after describing the bloody 25 horrors that followed the fall of the Bastille in 1789: — "O evening sun of July, how, at this hour, thy beams fall slant on reapers amid peaceful woody fields ; on old women spinning in cottages ; on ships 1^ Essay on Warren Hastings. 96 John Morley far out in the silent main ; on balls at the Orangerie at Versailles, where high-rouged dames of the Palace are even now dancing with double-jacketed Hussar officers; — and also on this roaring Hell-porch of a s H6tel de Ville ! " Who does not feel in this the breath of poetic inspiration, and how different it is from the mere composite of the rhetorician's imagi- nation, assiduously working to order? XXIV. This remark is no disparagement of 10 Macaulay's genius, but a classification of it. We are interrogating our own impressions, and asking ourselves among what kind of writers he ought to be placed. Rhetoric is a good and worthy art, and rhetorical authors are often more useful, more IS instructive, more really respectable than poetical authors. But it is to be said that Macaulay as a rhetorician will hardly be placed in the first rank, by those who have studied both him and the great masters. Once more, no amount of embellishment 20 or emphasis or brilliant figure suffices to produce this intense effect of agitation rigorously restrained ; nor can any beauty of decoration be in the least a sub- stitute for that touching and penetrative music, which is made in prose by the repressed trouble of 25 grave and high souls. There is a certain music, we do not deny, in Macaulay, but it is the music of a man everlastingly playing for us rapid solos on a silver trumpet, never the swelling diapasons of the organ, and never the deep ecstasies of the four 30 magic strings. That so sensible a man as Macaulay Macaulay gy should keep clear of the modern abomination of dithyrambic prose,^^ that rank and sprawling weed of speech, was natural enough ; but then the effects which we miss in him, and which, considering how strong the literary faculty in him really was, we are 5 almost astonished to miss, are not produced by dithy- ramb but by repression. Of course the answer has been already given ; Macaulay, powerful and vigor- ous as he was, had no agitation, no wonder, no tumult of spirit to repress. The world was spread out clear 10 before him ; he read it as plainly and as certainly as he read his books ; life was all an affair of direct categoricals. XXV. This was at least one secret of those hard modulations and shallow cadences. How poor is is the rhythm of Macaulay's prose we only realise by going with his periods fresh in our ear to some true master of harmony. It is not worth while to quote passages from an author who is in everybody's library, and Macaulay is always so much like himself that 20 almost any one page will serve for an illustration exactly as well as any other. Let any one turn to his character of Somers,^" for whom he had so much admiration, and then turn to Clarendon's character of Falkland ; — "a person of such prodigious parts 25 of learning and knowledge, of that inimitable sweet- ness and delight in conversation, of so flowing and 1' The phrase dithyrambic prose is applied to inflated and rhythmic forms of writing and even to the so-called " fine-writing." 20 History, Chapter XX. 98 John Morley obliging a humanity and goodness to mankind, and of tliat primitive simplicity and integrity of life, that if there were no other brand upon this odious and accursed civil war than that single loss, it must be 5 most infamous and execrable to all posterity." Now Clarendon is not a great writer, not even a good writer, for he is prolix and involved, yet we see that even Clarendon, when he comes to a matter in which his heart is engaged, becomes sweet and harmonious xo in his rhythm. If we turn to a prose-writer of the very first place, we are instantly conscious of a still greater difference. How flashy and shallow Macau- lay's periods seem, as we listen to the fine ground- base that rolls in the melody of the following passage IS of Burke's, and it is taken from one of the least ornate of all his pieces : — You will not, we trust, believe that, born in a civilised country, formed to gentle manners, trained in a merciful religion, and living in enlightened and polished times, where even foreign 20 hostility is softened from its original sternness, we could have thought of letting loose upon you, our late beloved brethren, these fierce tribes of savages and cannibals, in whom the traces of human nature are effaced by ignorance and barbarity. We rather wished to have joined with you in bringing gradually that 25 unhappy part of mankind into civility, order, piety, and virtuous discipline, than to have confirmed their evil habits and increased their natural ferocity by fleshing them in the slaughter of you, whom our wiser and better ancestors had sent into the wilder- ness with the express view of introducing, along with our holy 30 religion, its humane and charitable manners. We do not hold that all things are lawful in war. We should think every bar- barity, in fire, in wasting, in murders, in tortures, and othei Macaulay 99 craelties, too horrible and too full of turpitude for Christian mouths to utter or ears to hear, if done at our instigation, by those who we know will make war thus if they make it at all, to be, to all intents and purposes, as if done by ourselves. We clear ourselves to you our brethren, to the present age, and to 5 future generations, to our king and our country, and to Europe, which as a spectator, beholds this tragic scene, of every part or share in adding this last and worst of evils to the inevitable mischiefs of a civil war. We do not call you rebels and traitors. We do not call for 10 the vengeance of the crown against you. We do not know how to qualify millions of our countrymen, contending with one heart for an admission to privileges which we have ever thought our own happiness and honour, by odious and unworthy names. On the contrary, we highly revere the principles on which you 15 act, though we lament some of their effects. Armed as you are, we embrace you, as our friends and as our brethren by the best and dearest ties of relation. XXVI. It may be said that there is a patent injustice in comparing the prose of a historian 20 criticising or describing great events at second hand, with the prose of a statesman taking active part in great events, fired by the passion of a present conflict, and stimulated by the vivid interest of undetermined issues. If this be a well-grounded 25 plea, and it may be so, then of course it excludes a contrast not only with Burke, but also with Boling- broke, whose fine manners and polished gaiety give us a keen sense of the grievous garishness of Macaulay. If we may not institute a comparison 30 between Macaulay and great actors on the stage of affairs, at least there can be no objection to the lOO John Morley introduction of Southey as a standard of compari- son. Southey was a man of letters pure and simple, and it is worth remarking that Macaulay himself ad- mitted that he found so great a charm in Southey's s style, as nearly always to read it with pleasure, even when Southey was talking nonsense. Now, take any page of the Life, of Nelson or the Life of Wesley ; consider how easy, smooth, natural, and winning is the diction and the rise and fall of the lo sentence, and yet how varied the rhythm and how nervous "^ the phrases ; and then turn to a page of Macaulay, and wince under its stamping emphasis, its over-coloured tropes, its exaggerated expressions, its unlovely staccato. Southey's History of the IS Peninsular War is now dead, but if any of my readers has a copy on his highest shelves, I would venture to ask him to take down the third volume, and read the concluding pages, of which Coleridge used to say that they were the finest specimen of 20 historic eulogy he had ever read in English, adding with forgivable hyperbole, that they were more to the Duke's fame and glory than a campaign. "Fore- sight and enterprise with our commander went hand in hand ; he never advanced but so as to be sure 2S of his retreat ; and never retreated but in such an attitude as to impose upon a superior enemy," and so on through the sum of Wellington's achieve- ments. " There was something more precious than these, more to be desired than the high and endur- ^ That is, marked by strength. Macaulay lOi ing fame which he had secured by his military achievements, the satisfaction of thinking to what end those achievements had been directed ; that they were for the deliverance of two most injured and grievously oppressed nations ; for the safety, honour, and welfare of his own country ; and for the general interests of Europe and of the civilised world. His campaigns were sanctified by the cause ; they were sullied by no cruelties, no crimes ; the chariot-wheels of his triumphs have been followed by no curses ; his laurels are entwined with the amaranths of righteousness, and upon his death-bed he might remember his victories among his good works." XXVII. What is worse than want of depth and fineness of intonation in a period, is all gross excess of colour, because excess of colour is connected with graver faults in the region of the intellectual conscience. Macaulay is a constant sinner in this respect. The wine of truth is in his cup a bran- died draught, a hundred degrees above proof, and he too often replenishes the lamp of knowledge with naphtha instead of fine oil. It is not that he has a spontaneous passion for exuberant decoration, which he would have shared with more than one of the greatest names in literature. On the contrary, we feel that the exaggerated words and dashing sen- tences are the fruit of deliberate travail, and the petulance or the irony of his speech is mostly due to a driving predilection for strong effects. His I02 John Morley memory, his directness, his aptitude for forcing things into firm outline, and giving them a sharply- defined edge, — these and other singular talents of his all lent themselves to this intrepid and indefati- 5 gable pursuit of effect. And the most disagreeable feature is that Macaulay was so often content with an effect of an essentially vulgar kind, offensive to taste, discordant to the fastidious ear, and worst of all, at enmity with the whole spirit of truth. By lo vulgar we certainly do not mean homely, which marks a wholly different quality. No writer can be more homely than Mr. Carlyle, alike in his choice of particulars to dwell upon, and in the terms or images in which he describes or illustrates them, 15 but there is also no writer further removed from vulgarity. Nor do we mean that Macaulay too copiously enriches the tongue with infusion from any Doric dialect.^ For such raciness he had little taste. What we find in him is that quality which the 2o French call brutal. The description, for instance, in the essay on Hallam, of the licence of the Restoration, seems to us a coarse and vulgar pict- ure, whose painter took the most garish colours he could find on his palette, and then laid them on 25 in untempered crudity. And who is not sensible of the vulgarity and coarseness of the account of Boswell.^ "If he had not been a great fool he ^ The Doric dialect was deemed less pure and elegant than the Attic. Here the phrase means slang. ** Croker's Ediliott of BosweWs Life of Johnson. Macaulay 103 would not have been a great writer ... he was a dunce, a parasite, and a coxcomb," and so forth, in which the shallowness of the analysis of Bos- well's character matches the puerile rudeness of the terms. Here, again, is a sentence about Mon- s tesquieu.^ "The English at that time," Macaulay says of the middle of the eighteenth century, "considered a Frenchman who talked about consti- tutional checks and fundamental laws as a prodigy not less astonishing than the learned pig or musi- 10 cal infant." And he then goes on to describe the author of one of the most important books that ever were written, as "specious but shallow, studi- ous of effect, indifferent to truth — the lively President," and so forth, stirring in any reader 15 who happens to know Montesquieu's influence, a singular amazement. We are not concerned with the judgment upon Montesquieu, nor with the truth as to contemporary English opinion about him, but a writer who devises an antithesis to such a man 20 as Montesquieu in learned pigs and musical infants, deliberately condescends not merely to triviality or levity, but to flat vulgarity of thought, to something of mean and ignoble association. Though one of the most common, this is not Macaulay's only sin 25 in the same unfortunate direction. He too fre- quently resorts to vulgar gaudiness. For example, there is in one place a certain description of an alleged practice of Addison's. Swift had said of ** Essay on Machiavelli. 104 John Morley Esther Johnson that "whether from easiness in general, or from her indifference to persons, or from her despair of mending them, or from the same practice which she most liked in Mr. Addison, s I cannot determine ; but when she saw any of the company very warm in a wrong opinion, she was more inclined to confirm them in it than to oppose them. It prevented noise, she said, and saved time." ^ Let us behold what a picture^ Macaulay lo draws on the strength of this passage. "If his first attempts to set a presuming dunce right were ill-received," Macaulay says of Addison, "he changed his tone, ' assented with civil leer,' and lured the flattered coxcomb deeper and deeper into absurd- is ity." To compare this transformation of the sim- plicity of the original into the grotesque heat and overcharged violence of the copy, is to see the homely maiden of a country village transformed into the painted flaunter of the city, ao XXVIII. One more instance. We should be sorry to violate any sentiment of to a-efivdv ^ about a man of Macaulay's genius, but what is a decorous term for a description of the doctrine of Lucretius's great poem, thrown in parenthetically, as the "sil- 25 liest and meanest system of natural and moral philosophy ! " Even disagreeable artifices of com- 26 Forster's Swi/i, I. 26$.~Morliy. ^ The Life and Writings of Addison. ^ The phrase t4 atfivkv means the divine; here, the grand, the majestic. Macaulay 105 position may be forgiven, when they serve to vivify truth, to quicken or to widen the moral judgment, but Macaulay's hardy and habitual recourse to strenuous superlatives is fundamentally unscientific and untrue. There is no more instructive example s in our literature than he, of the saying that the adjective is the enemy of the substantive. XXIX. In 1837 Jeffrey saw a letter written by Macaulay to a common friend, and stating the rea- sons for preferring a literary to a political life. 10 Jeffrey thought that his illustrious ally was wrong in the conclusion to which he came. "As to the tranquillity of an author's life," he said, " I have no sort of faith in it. And as to fame, if an author's is now and then more lasting, it is generally longer is withheld, and except in a few rare cases it is of a less pervading or elevating description. A great poet or a great original writer is above all other glory. But who would give much for such a glory as Gibbon's } Besides, I believe it is in the inward 20 glow and pride of consciously influencing the desti- nies of mankind, much more than in the sense of personal reputation, that the dehght of either poet or statesman chiefly consists." And Gibbon had at least the advantage of throwing himself into a re- 25 ligious controversy that is destined to endure for centuries. He, moreover, was specifically a his- torian, while Macaulay has been prized less as a historian proper than as a master of literary art. io6 John Morley Now a man of letters, in an age of battle and tran- sition like our own, fades into an ever-deepening distance, unless he has while he writes that touch- ing and- impressive quality, — th? presentiment of s the eve; a feeling of the difficulties ai I interests that will engage and distract mankind on the morrow. Nor can it be enough for enduring fame in any age merely to throw a golden halo round the secularity of the hour, or to make glorious the narrowest limi- lo tations of the passing day. If we think what a changed sense is already given to criticism, what a different conception now presides over history, how many problems on which Macaulay was silent are now the familiar puzzles of even superficial readers, IS we cannot help feeling that the eminent man whose life we are all about to read, i3 the hero of a past which is already remote, and that he did little to make men better fitted to face a present of which, close as it was to him, he seems hardly to have 20 dreamed. IV J«attf)eto ^rttollr Born 1822. Died 1888 ON THE STUDY OF CELTIC LITERATURE [The series of lectures, On the Study of Celtic Literature, of which sections III. and IV. are given below, was delivered, as Arnold says in the introduction, while he occupied the chair of poetry at Oxford, and were first published in 1867 in *^e Cornhill Magazine. The object of the lectures was, as Arnold says, " not to treat any special branch of scientific Celtic studies, . . . but to point out the many directions in which the results of those studies offer matter of general interest, and to insist on the benefit we may all derive from knowing the Celt and things Celtic more thoroughly." Things Celtic, the author continues, have always been regarded by tl i Englishman as worthless because altogether removed from things English. The quantities of Celtic literature which had been collected by the devotion of patriotic Welshmen and Irishmen had been the object of so much dilettanteism, false sentiment, and bad sense in interpretation, on the one hand, and, on the other, of a good deal of harsh, unsympathetic criticism, that the study of it in its bearings on English had produced no results worthy of the subject. That the Celtic and the Teutonic races are in general more closely united than was first thought, has been shown by modern philological and physiological research ; the English have a strain of Celtic in their speech and blood. It is of greater importance to distinguish the mental qualities of these races ; and this is done in the following selection by way of preparation for the final result — the tracing of the Celtic element in the English genius. The text is that of the standard edition of Arnold's works published by Messrs. Macmillan and Company.] io8 Matthew Arnold I. We have seen how philology carries us towards ideas of affinity of race which are new to us. But it is evident that this affinity, even if proved, can be no very potent affair, unless it goes beyond the s stage at which we have hitherto observed it. Affin- ity between races still, so to speak, in their mother's womb, counts for something, indeed, but cannot count for very much. So long as Celt and Teuton are in their embryo rudimentary state, or, at least, lo no such great while out of their cradle, still engaged in their wanderings, changes of place and struggle for development, so long as they have not yet crystallised into solid nations, they may touch and mix in passing, and yet very little come of it. It is IS when the embryo has grown and solidified into a distinct nation, into the Gaul or German of history, when it has finally acquired the characters which make the Gaul of history what he is, the German of history what he is, that contact and mixture are 20 important, and may leave a long train of effects; for Celt and Teuton by this time have their formed, marked, national, ineffaceable qualities to oppose or to communicate. The contact of the German of the Continent with the Celt was in the prehistoric 25 times, and the definite German type, as we know it, was fixed later, and from the time when it became fixed was not influenced by the Celtic type. But here in our country, in historic times, long after the Celtic embryo had crystallised into the Celt 30 proper, long after the Germanic embryo had crystal- The Study of Celtic Literature 109 lised into the German proper, there was i important contact between the two peoples; the Saxons in- vaded the Britons and settled themselves in the Britons' country. Well, then, here was a contact which one might expect would leave its traces ; if s the Saxons got the upper hand, as we I know they did, and made our country be England and us be English, there must yet, one would think, be some trace of the Saxon having met th; Briton; there must be some Celtic vein or other running 10 through us. Many people <="/ there is nothing at all of the kind, absolutely nothing ; the Saturday Review treats these matters of ethnology with great power and learning,- and the Saturday Review says we are "a nation into which .1. Norman element, 15 like a much smaller Celtic element, was so com- pletely absorbed that it is \ in 1 1 seek after Nor- man or Celtic elements in any modern Englishman." And the other day at Zurich I read i long ess:/ on English literature by one of the professors there, 20 in which the writer observed, as a remarkable thing, that while other countries conquered by the Ger- mans, — France, for instance, and Italy, — had ousted all German influence from their genius and literature, there were two countries, not originally Germanic, 25 but conquered by the Germans, England and German Switzerland, of which the genius and the literature were purely and unmixedly German ; and this he laid down as a position which nobody would dream of challenging. 3° no Matthew Arnold II. I say it is strange that this should be so, and we in particular have reason for inquiring whether it really is so ; because though, as I have said, even as a matter of science the Celt has a s claim to be known, and we have an interest in knowing him, yet this interest is wonderfully en- hanced if we find him to have actually a part in us. The question is to be tried by external and by internal evidence ; the language and the lo physical type of our race afford certain data for trying it, and other data are afforded by our litera- ture, genius, and spiritual production generally. Data of this second kind belong to the province of the literary critic ; data of the first kind to the IS province of the philologist and of the physiologist. III. The province of the philologist and of the physiologist is not mine ; but this whole question as to the mixture of Celt with Saxon in us has been so little explored, people have been so prone 20 to settle it off-hand according to their prepossessions, that even on the philological and physiological side of it I must say a few words in passing. Surely it must strike with surprise any one who thinks of it, to find that without any immense inpouring of 25 a whole people, that by mere expeditions of invad- ers having to come over the sea, and in no greater numbers than the Saxons, so far as we can make out, actually came, the old occupants of this island, the Celtic Britons, should have been completely 30 annihilated, or even so completely absorbed that it The Study of Celtic Literature 1 1 1 is vain to seek after Celtic elements in the exist- ing English race. Of deliberate wholesale extermi- nation of the Celtic race, all of them who could not fly to Wales or Scotland, we hear nothing ; and without some such extermination one would s suppose that a great mass of them must have remained in the country, their lot the obscure and, so to speak, underground lot of a subject race, but yet insensibly getting mixed with their conquerors, and their blood entering into the composition of a lo new people, in which the stock of the conquerors counts for most, but the stock of the conquered, too, counts for something. How little the triumph of the conqueror's laws, manners, and language, proves the extinction of the old race, we may see 15 by looking at France ; Gaul was Latinised in lan- guage, manners, and laws, and yet her people re- mained essentially Celtic. The Germanisation of Britain went far deeper than the Latinisation of France, and not only laws, manners, and language, 20 but the main current of the blood, became Ger- manic ; but how, without some process of radical extirpation, of which, as I say, there is no evidence, can there have failed to subsist in Britain, as in Gaul, a Celtic current too .■• The indications of this 25 in our language have never yet been thoroughly searched out ; the Celtic names of places prove nothing, of course, as to the point here in ques- tion ; they come from the prehistoric times, the times before the nations, Germanic or Celtic, had 3° 112 Matthew Arnold crystallised, and they are everywhere, as the im- petuous Celt was formerly everywhere, — in the Alps, the Apennines, the Cevennes, the Rhine, the Po, as well as in the Thames, the Humber, Cum- 5 berl'and, London. But it is said that the words of Celtic origin for things having to do with every- day peaceful life, — the life of a settled nation, — words like basket (to take an instance which all the world knows), form a much larger body in our lo language than is commonly supposed ; it is said that a number of our raciest, most idiomatic, popu- lar words — for example, bam, kick, whop, twaddle, fudge, hitch, muggy, — are Celtic. These assertions require to be carefully examined, and it by no IS hieans follows that because an English word is found in Celtic, therefore we get it from thence ; but they have not yet had the attention which, as illustrating through language this matter of the subsistence and intermingling in our nation of a 20 Celtic part, they merit. IV. Nor have the physiological data which illus- trate this matter had much more attention from us in England. But in France, a physician, half English by blood though a Frenchman by home 25 and language, Monsieur W. F. Edwards, brother to Monsieur Milne-Edwards, the well-known zoologist, published in 1839 ^ letter to Monsieur Amed^e Thierry with this title : Des Caractkres Physiolo- giques des Races Humaines considMs dans leurs 30 Rapports avec VHistoire. The letter attracted great The Study of Celtic Literature 113 attention on the continent; it fills not much more than a hundred pages, and they are a hundred pages which well deserve reading and rereading. Monsieur Thierry in his Histoire des Gaulois had divided the population of Gaul into certain groups, s and the object of Monsieur Edwards was to try this division by physiology. Groups of men have, he says, their physical type which distinguishes them, as well as their language ; the traces of this physi- cal type endure as the traces of language endure, 10 and physiology is enabled to verify history by them. Accordingly, he determines the physical type of each of the two great Celtic families, the Gaels and the Cymris, who are said to have been dis- tributed in a certain order through Gaul, and then 15 he tracks these types in the population of France at the present day, and so verifies the alleged original order of distribution. In doing this, he makes excursions into neighbouring countries where the Gaels and the Cymris have been, and he de- 20 Clares that in England he finds abundant traces of the physical type which he has established as the Cymric, still subsisting in our population, and having descended from the old British possessors of our soil before the Saxon conquest. But if we are to 25 believe the current English opinion, says Monsieur Edwards, the stock of these old British possessors is clean gone. On this opinion he makes the following comment : — V. " In the territory occupied by the Saxons, the 3° 114 Matthew Arnold Britons were no longer an independent nation, nor even a people with any civil existence at all. For history, therefore, they were dead, above all for his- tory as it was then written ; but they had not s perished ; they still lived on, and undoubtedly in such numbers as the remains of a great nation, in spite of its disasters, might still be expected to keep. That the Britons were destroyed or expelled from England, properly so called, is, as I have said, a lo popular opinion in that country. It is founded on the exaggeration of the writers of history ; but in these very writers, when we come to look closely at what they say, we find the confession that the re- mains of this people were reduced to a state of IS strict servitude. Attached to the soil, they will have shared in that emancipation which during the course of the Middle Ages gradually restored to political life the mass of the population in the coun- tries of Western Europe ; recovering by slow de- 20 grees their rights without resuming their name, and rising gradually with the rise of industry, they will have got spread through all ranks of society. The gradualriess of this movement, and the obscurity which enwrapped its beginnings, allowed the con- as tempt of the conqueror and the shame of the con- quered to become fixed feelings ; and so it turns out, that an Englishman who now thinks himself sprung from the Saxons or the Normans, is often in reality the descendant of the Britons." 3° VI. So physiology, as well as language, incomplete The Study of Celtic Literature 115 though the application of their tests to this matter has hitherto been, may lead us to hesitate before accepting the round assertion that it is vain to search for Celtic elements in any modern Englishman. But it is not only by the tests of physiology and language s that we can try this matter. As there are for physi- ology physical marks, such as the square head of the German, the round head of the Gael, the oval head of the Cymri, which determine the type of a people, so for criticism there are spiritual marks 10 which determine the type, and make us speak of the Greek genius, the Teutonic genius, the Celtic genius, and so on. Here is another test at our service ; and this test, too, has never yet been thoroughly employed. Foreign critics have indeed occasionally 15 hazarded the idea that in English poetry there is a Celtic element traceable; and Mr. Morley, in his very readable as well as very useful book on the English writers before Chaucer, has a sentence which struck my attention when I read it, because it expresses 20 an opinion which I, too, have long held. Mr. Mor- ley says : — " The main current of English literature cannot be disconnected from the lively Celtic wit in which it has one of its sources. The Celts do not form an utterly distinct part of our mixed popu- 25 lation. But for early, frequent, and various con- tact with the race that in its half-barbarous days invented Ossian's dialogues with St. Patrick, and that quickened afterwards the Northmen's blood in France, Germanic England would not have produced 30 Ii6 Matthew Arnold a Shakspeare." But there Mr. Morley leaves the matter. He indicates this Celtic element and influ- ence, but he does not show us, — it did not come within the scope of his work to show us, — how ■5 this influence has declared itself. Unlike the phys- iological test, or the linguistic test, this literary, spiritual test is one which I may perhaps be allowed to try my hand at applying. I say that there is a Celtic element in the English nature, as well as a to Germanic element, and that this element manifests itself in our spirit and literature. But before I try to point out how it manifests itself, it may be as well to get a clear notion of what we mean by a Celtic element, a Germanic element ; what charac- is ters, that is, determine for us the Celtic genius, the Germanic genius, as we commonly conceive the two. VII. Let me repeat what I have often said of the characteristics which mark the English spirit, the English genius. This spirit, this genius, judged, to 20 be sure, rather from a friead's than an eneniy's point of view, yet judged ^on the whole fakly, is characterised, I have r^^irtedly said, by energy with honesty. Take away some of the energy whichy^ comes to us, asj[.,beli_eye, in part from Celtic and 25 Roman sources ; instead_Qf ^energy, say x^'Ca&r^stead- iness; and you have the Germanic genius : steadi- ness with honesty. It is evident how nearly the two characterisations approach one another ; and yet they leave, as we shall see, a great deal of The Study of Celtic Literature 117 room for difference. Steadiness with honesty ; the danger for a national spirit thus composed is the humdrum, the plain and ugly, the ignoble : in a word, das Gemeine, die Gemeinheit, that curse of Germany, against which Goethe was all his life s fighting. The excellence of a national spirit thus composed is freedom from whim, flightiness, per- verseness ; patient fidelity to Nature, — in a word, science, — leading it at last, though slowly, and not by the most brilliant road, out of the bondage of 10 the humdrum and common, into the better life. The universal dead-level of plainness and homeliness, the lack of all beauty and distinction in form and feature, the slowness and clumsiness of the lan- guage, the eternal beer, sausages, and bad tobacco, 15 the blank commonness everywhere, pressing at last like a weight on the spirits of the traveller in Northern Germany, and making him impatient to be gone, — this is the weak side ; the industry, the well-doing, the patient steady elaboration of things, 20 the idea of science governing all departments of human activity, — this is the strong side ; and through this side of her genius, Germany has already obtained excellent results, and is destined, we may depend upon it, however her pedantry, her 25 slowness, her fumbling, her ineffectiveness, her bad government, may at times make us cry out, to an immense development.^ lit is to be remembered that the above was written before the .ecent war between Prussia and Austria. — Arnold. ii8 Matthew Arnold VIII. For dulness, the creeping Saxons, — says an old Irish poem, assigning the characteristics for which different nations are celebrated : — For acuteness and valour, the Greeks, S For excessive pride, the Romans, For dulness, the creeping Saxons ; For beauty and amorousness, the Gaedhils." We have seen in what sense, and with what explana- tion, this characterisation of the German may be lo allowed to stand ; now let us come to the beautiful and amorous Gaedhil. Or rather, let us find a defi- nition which may suit both branches of the Celtic family, the Cymri as well as the Gael. It is clear that special circumstances may have developed some IS one side in the national character of Cymri or Gael, Welshman or Irishman, so that the observer's notice shall be readily caught by this side, and yet it may be impossible to adopt it as characteristic of the Celtic nature generally. For instance, in his beau- 20 tiful essay on the poetry of the Celtic races, M. Renan, with his eyes fixed on the Bretons and the Welsh, is struck with the timidity, the shyness, the delicacy of the Celtic nature, its preference for a retired life, its embarrassment at having to deal with 25 the great world. He talks of the douce petite race naturellement chr^tienne, his race fikre et timide, d ' The Gaedhils or Gadhels were that branch of the Celtic race which occupied Ireland, the Isle of Man, and Scotland at the close of the Saxon Conquest, and are distinguished from the Cymry of Wales, Cornwall, and Brittany. The Study of Celtic Literature 119 Vextirieur gauche et embarrassie. But it is evident that this description, however well it may do for the Cymri, will never do for the Gael, never do for the typical Irishman of Donnybrook^ fair. Again, M. Renan's infinie dMcatesse de sentiment qui caract&ise s la race Celtique, how little that accords with the popular conception of an Irishman who wants to borrow money ! Sentiment is, however, the word which marks where the Celtic races really touch and are one ; sentimental, if the Celtic nature is to be 10 characterised by a single term, is the best term to take. An organisation quick to feel impressions, and feeling them very strongly ; a lively personality therefore, keenly sensitive to joy and to sorrow ; this is the main point. If the downs of life too much 15 outnumber the ups, this temperament, just because it is so quickly and nearly conscious of all impres- sions, may no doubt be seen shy and wounded ; it may be seen in wistful regret, it may be seen in pas- sionate, penetrating melancholy ; but its essence is 20 to aspire ardently after life, light, and emotion, to be expansive, adventurous, and gay. Our word gay, it is said, is itself Celtic. It is not from gaudium, but from the Celtic gair, to laugh ; ^ and the impression- ' A small town near Dublin at which for six centuries (up to 1855) fairs were held in August. The chief characteristic of these fairs was rioting of a mild and good-humoured sort. * The etymology is Monsieur Henri Martin's, but Lord Strangford says : — " Whatever gai may be, it is assuredly not Celtic. Is there any authority for this ■viox.i.gair, to laugh, or rather 'laughter,' beyond O'Reilly ? O'Reilly is no authority at all except in so far as tested 120 Matthew Arnold able Celt, soon up and soon down, is the more down because it is so his nature to be up — to be sociable, hospitable, eloquent, admired, figuring away brill- ^ iantly. He loves bright colours, he easily becomes 5 audacious, overcrowing, full of fanfaronade. The German, say the physiologists, has the larger volume of intestines (and who that has ever seen a German at a table-d'h6te will not readily believe this ?), the Frenchman has the more developed organs of res- 10 piration. That is just the expansive, eager Celtic nature ; the head in the air, snuffing and snorting ; a proud look and a high stomach, as the Psalmist says, but without any such settled savage temper as the Psalmist seems to impute by those words. IS For good and for bad, the Celtic genius is more airy and unsubstantial, goes less near the ground, than the German. The Celt is often called sensual ; but it is not so much the vulgar satisfactions of sense that attract him as emotion and excitement ; he is 2o truly, as I began by saying, sentimental. IX. Sentimental, — always ready to react against the despotism of fact ; that is the description a great friend^ of the Celt gives of him; and it is not a bad description of the sentimental temperament; it and passed by the new school. It is hard to give up gavisus. But Diez, chief authority in Romanic matters, is content to accept Mura- tori's reference to an old High-German^aAj, modern j'dhe^ sharp, quick, sudden, brisk, and so to the sense of lively, animated, high in spirits," — Arnold. * Monsieur Henri Martin, whose chapters on the Celts, in his His- toire de France, are full of information and interest, — Arnold. The Study of Celtic Literature I2I lets us into the secret of its dangers and of its habitual want of success. Balance, measure, and patience, these are the eternal conditions, even sup- posing the happiest temperament to start with, of high success; and balance, measure, and patience s are just what the Celt has never had. Even in the world of spiritual creation he has never, in spite of his admirable gifts of quick perception and warm emotion, succeeded perfectly, because he never has had steadiness, patience, sanity enough to comply lo with the conditions under which alone can expres- sion be perfectly given to the finest perceptions and emotions. The Greek has the same perceptive, emotional temperament as the Celt; but he adds to this temperament the sense of measure^; hence is his admirable success in the plastic arts, in which the Celtic genius, with its chafing against the despotism of fact, its perpetual straining after mere emotion, has accomplished nothing. In the comparatively petty art of ornamentation, in rings, 20 brooches, crosiers, relic-cases, and so on, he has done just enough to show his delicacy of taste, his happy temperament ; but the grand difficulties of painting and sculpture, the prolonged dealings of spirit with matter, he has never had patience for. 25 Take the more spiritual arts of music and poetry. All that emotion alone can do in music the Celt has done; the very soul of emotion breathes in the ° Moderation, due restraint; cf, tlie well-known phrases with meas- ure, beyond measure. 122 Matthew Arnold Scotch and Irish airs; but with all this power of musical feeling, what has the Celt, so eager for emotion that he has not patience for science, effected in music, to be compared with what the s less emotional German, steadily developing his mu- sical feeling with the science of a Sebastian Bach or a Beethoven, has effected ? In poetry, again, — poetry which the Celt has so passionately, so nobly loved; poetry where emotion counts for so much, lo but where reason, too, reason, measure, sanity, also count for so much, — the Celt has shown genius, indeed, splendid genius; but even here his faults have clung to him, and hindered him from produc- ing great works, such as other nations with a genius IS for poetry, — the Greeks, say, or the Italians, — have produced. The Celt has not produced great poeti- cal works, he has only produced poetry with an air of greatness investing it all, and sometimes giving, moreover, to short pieces, or to passages, hnes, and 30 snatches of long pieces, singular beauty and power. And yet he loved poetry so much that he grudged no pains to it; but the true art, the architectonic^"^ which shapes great works, such as the Agamemnon or the Divine Comedy, comes only after a steady, zs deep-searching survey, a firm conception of the facts of human life, which the Celt has not patience for. So he runs off into technic, where he employs the utmost elaboration, and attains astonishing skill ; but .in the contents of his poetry you have only so much ' Constructive power. The Study of Celtic Literature 123 interpretation of the world as the first dash of a quick, strong perception, and then sentiment, infinite sentiment, can bring you. Here, too, his want of sanity and steadfastness has kept the Celt back from the highest success. s X. If his rebellion against fact has thus lamed the Celt even in spiritual work, how much more must it have lamed him in the world of business and politics ! The skilful and resolute appliance of means to ends which is needed both to make pro- 10 gress in material civilisation and also to form power- ful states, is just what the Celt has least turn for. He is sensual, as I have said, or at least sensuous ; loves bright colours, company, and pleasure ; and here he is like the Greek and Latin races ; but com- is pare the talent the Greek and Latin (or Latinised) races have shown for gratifying their senses, for procuring an outward life, rich, luxurious, splendid, with the Celt's failure to reach any material civili- sation sound and satisfying, and not out at elbows, 20 poor, slovenly, and half-barbarous. The sensuous- ness of the Greek made Sybaris and Corinth, the sensuousness of the Latin made Rome and Baiae, the sensuousness of the Latinised Frenchman makes Paris ; the sensuousness of the Celt proper has made 25 Ireland. Even in his ideal heroic times, his gay and sensuous nature cannot carry him, in the appliances of his favourite life of sociability and pleasure, be- yond the gross and creeping Saxon whom he de- spises ; the regent Breas, we are told in the Battle of 3° 124 Matthew Arnold Moytura of the Fomorians, became unpopular because "the knives of his people were not greased at his table, nor did their breath smell of ale at the ban- quet." In its grossness and barbarousness is not S that Saxon, as Saxon as it can be? just what the Latinised Norman, sensuous and sociable like the Celt, but with the talent to mak^ this bent of his serve to a practical embellishment of his mode of living, found so disgusting in the Saxon. lo XI. And as in material civilisation he has been ineffectual, so has the Celt been ineffectual in poli-. tics. This colossal, impetuous, adventurous wan- derer, the Titan of the early world, who in primitive times fills so large a place on earth's scene, dwindles IS and dwindles as history goes on, and at last is shrunk to what we now see him. For ages and ages the world has been constantly slipping, ever more and more, out of the Celt's grasp. "They went forth to the war," Ossian says most truly, " but they 20 always fell." XII. And yet, if one sets about constituting an ideal genius, what a great deal of the Celt does one find oneself drawn to put into it ! Of an ideal genius one does not want the elements, any of them, 25 to be in a state of weakness ; on the contrary, one wants all of them to be in the highest state of power ; but with a law of measure, of harmony, presiding over the whole. So the sensibility of the Celt, if everything else were not sacrificed to it, is 30 a beautiful and admirable force. For sensibility. The Study of Celtic Literature 125 the power of quick and strong perception and emo- tion, is one of the very prime constituents of genius, perhaps its most positive constituent ; it is to the soul what good senses are to the body, the grand natural condition of successful activity. Sensibility s gives genius its materials ; one cannot have too much of it, if one can but keep its master and not be its slave. Do not let us wish that the Celt had had less sensibility, but that he had been more master of it. Even as it is, if his sensibility has been a 10 source of weakness to him, it has been a source of power too, and a source of happiness. Some peo- ple have found in the Celtic nature and its sensi- bility the main root out of which chivalry and romance and the glorification of a feminine ideal 15 spring ; this is a great question, with which I can- not deal here. Let me notice in passing, however, that there is, in truth, a Celtic air about the extrav- agance of chivalry, its reaction against the despotism of fact, its straining human nature further than it 20 will stand. But putting all this question of chivalry and its origin on one side, no doubt the sensibility of the Celtic nature, its nervous exaltation, have something feminine in them, and the Celt is thus peculiarly disposed to feel the spell of the feminine 25 idiosyncrasy ; he has an afifinity to it ; he is not far from its secret. Again, his sensibility gives him a peculiarly near and intimate feeling of nature and the life of nature ; here, too, he seems in a special way attracted by the secret before him, the secret 30 126 Matthew Arnold of natural beauty and natural magic, and to be close to it, to half-divine it. In the productions of the Celtic genius, nothing, perhaps, is so interesting as the evidences of this power : I shall have occasion s to give specimens of them by and by. The same sensibility made the Celts full of reverence and enthusiasm for genius, learning, and the things of the mind ; to be a bard, freed a man, — that is a characteristic stroke of this generous and ennobling lo ardour of theirs, which no race has ever shown more strongly. Even the extravagance and exag- geration of the sentimental Celtic nature has often something romantic and attractive about it, some- thing which has a sort of smack of misdirected IS good. The Celt, undisciplinable, anarchical, and turbulent by nature, but out of affection and admi- ration giving himself body and soul to some leader, that is not a promising political temperament, it is just the opposite of the Anglo-Saxon temperament, 20 disciplinable and steadily obedient within certain limits, but retaining an inalienable part of freedom and self-dependence ; but it is a temperament for which one has a kind of sympathy notwithstanding. And'very often, for the gay defiant reaction against 2S fact of the lively Celtic nature one has more than sympathy ; one feels, in spite of the extravagance, in spite of good sense disapproving, magnetised and exhilarated by it. The Gauls had a rule inflicting a fine on every warrior who, when he appeared on 30 parade, was found to stick out much in front, — to The SUidy of Celtic Literature 127 be corpulent, in short. Such a rule is surely the maddest article of war eiver framed, and to people to whom nature has assigned a large volume of intestines, must appear, no doubt, horrible; but yet has it not an audacious, sparkling, immaterial man- 5 ner with it, which lifts one out of routine, and sets one's spirits in a glow? XIII. All tendencies of human nature are in themselves vital and profitable ; when they are blamed, they are only to be blamed relatively, not 10 absolutely. This holds true of the Saxon's phlegm as well as of the Celt's sentiment. Out of the steady humdrum habit of the creeping Saxon, as the Celt calls him, — out of his way of going near the ground, — has come, no doubt, Philistinism, that is plant of essentially Germanic growth, flourishing with its genuine marks only in the German father- land, Great Britain and her colonies, and the United States of America ; but what a soul of goodness there is in Philistinism itself ! and this soul of good- 20 ness I, who am often supposed to be Philistinism's mortal enemy merely because I do not wish it to have things all its own way, cherish as much as anybody. This steady-going habit leads at last, as I have said, up to science, up to the comprehension 25 and interpretation of the world. With us in Great Britain, it is true, it does not seem to lead so far as that ; it is in Germany, where the habit is more unmixed, that it can lead to science. Here with us it seems at a certain point to meet with a conflict- 30 128 Matthew Arnold ing force, which checks it and prevents its pushing on to science ; but before reaching this point what conquests has it not won ! and all the more, per- haps, for stopping short at this point, for spending S its exertions within a bounded field, the field of plain sense, of direct practical utility. How it has augmented the comforts and conveniences of life for us ! Doors that open, windows that shut, locks that turn, razors that shave, coats that wear, watches that lo go, and a thousand more such good things, are the invention of the Philistines. XIV. Here, then, if commingling there is in our race, are two very unlike elements to commingle ; the steady-going Saxon temperament and the senti- is mental Celtic temperament. But before we go on to try and verify, in our life and literature, the al- leged fact of this commingling, we have yet another element to take into account, the Norman element. The critic in the Saturday Review, whom I have ao already quoted, says that in looking for traces of Normanism in our national genius, as in looking for traces of Celtism in it, we do but lose our labour; he says, indeed, that there went to the original making of our nation a very great deal more of a 25 Norman element than of a Celtic element, but he asserts that both elements have now so completely disappeared, that it is vain to look for any trace of either of them in the modern Englishman. But this sort of assertion I do not like to admit without try- 30 ing it a little. I want, therefore, to get some plain The Study of Celtic Literature 129 notion of the Norman habit and genius, as I have sought to get some plain notion of the Saxon and Celtic. Some people will say that the Normans are Teutonic, and that therefore the distinguishing char- acters of the German genius must be those of their 5 genius also ; but the matter cannot be settled in this speedy fashion. No doubt the basis of the Norman race is Teutonic, but the governing point in the history of the Norman race, — so far, at least, as we English have to do with it, — is not its Teu- 10 tonic origin, but its Latin civilisation. The French people have, as I have already remarked, an un- doubtedly Celtic basis, yet so decisive in its effect upon a nation's habit and character can be the con- tact with a stronger civilisation, that Gaul, without 15 changing the basis of her blood, became, for all practical intents and purposes, a Latin country, France and not Ireland, through the Roman con- quest. Latinism conquered Celtism in her, as it also conquered the Germanism imported by the 20 Frankish and other invasions ; Celtism is, however, I need not say, everywhere manifest still in the French nation ; even Germanism is distinctly trace- able in it, as any one who attentively compares the French with other Latin races will see. No one 25 can look carefully at the French troops in Rome, amongst the Italian population, and not perceive this trace of Germanism ; I do not mean in the Alsatian soldiers only, but in the soldiers of genuine France. But the governing character of France, as 30 130 Matthew Arnold a power in the world, is Latin ; such was the force of Greek and Roman civilisation upon a race whose whole mass remained Celtic, and where the Celtic language still lingered on, they say, among the com- s mon people, for some five or six centuries after the Roman conquest. But the Normans in Neustria lost their old Teutonic language in a wonderfully short time ; when they conquered England they were already Latinised ; with them were a number 10 of Frenchmen by race, men from Anjou and Poitou, so they brought into England more non-Teutonic blood, besides what they had themselves got by intermarriage, than is commonly supposed ; the great point, however, is, that by civilisation this vigorous IS race, when it took possession of England, was Latin. XV. These Normans, who in Neustria had lost their old Teutonic tongue so rapidly, kept in Eng- land their new Latin tongue for some three centu- ries. It was Edward the Third's reign before 20 English came to be used in law-pleadings and spoken at court. Why this difference .' Both in Neustria and in England the Normans were a hand- ful ; but in Neustria, as Teutons, they were in con- tact with a more advanced civilisation than their 25 own ; in England, as Latins, with a less advanced. The Latinised Normans in England had the sense for fact, which the Celts had not ; and the love of strenuousness, clearness,, and rapidity, the high Latin spirit, which the Saxons had not. They hated the 30 slowness and dulness of the creeping Saxon ; it of- The Study of Celtic Literature 131 fended their clear, strenuous talent for affairs, as it offended the Celt's quick and delicate perception. The Normans had the Roman talent for affairs, the Roman decisiveness in emergencies. They have been called prosaic, but this is not a right word for s them ; they were neither sentimental, nor, strictly speaking, poetical. They had more sense for rhet- oric than for poetry, like the Romans ; but, like the Romans, they had too high a spirit not to like a noble intellectual stimulus of some kind, 10 and thus they were carried out of the region of the merely prosaic. Their foible, — the bad excess of their characterising quality of strenuousness, — was not a prosaic flatness, it was hardness and insolence. 15 XVI. I have been obliged to fetch a very wide circuit, but at last I have got what I went to seek. I have got a rough, but, I hope, clear notion of these three forces, the Germanic genius, the Celtic genius, the Norman genius. The Germanic genius 20 has steadiness as its main basis, with commonness and humdrum for its defect, fidelity to nature for its excellence. The Celtic genius, sentiment as its main basis, with love of beauty, charm, and spiritu- ality for its excellence, ineffectualness and self-will 25 for its defect. The Norman genius, talent for affairs as its main basis, with strenuousness and clear rapid- ity for its excellence, hardness and insolence for its defect. And now to try and trace these in the composite English genius. 30 132 Matthew Arnold [So it is, the essay goes on, that the English, — at bottom a German people, — just as they get from the Normans a sense of quick perception and a feeling for rhetoric, receive from Celtic influence certain traits which separate them from the Germans and- the Latin races in art, religion, and manners. The art of the English is characterised by charm and fancy rather than grasp and completeness ; the religion, by more emotion than is common to Germanic nations ; the manners, by a certain awkwardness and hesitation. Chiefly in literature, and, of litera- ture, in poetry, is this Celtic influence most clearly to be seen : English poetry gets from a Celtic source some of its un-Germanic turn for style, much of its "titanic" melancholy, and "nearly all its natural magic." So far, then, from being "aliens in speech, in religion, in blood," the Celts have contributed elements to the English nation the recognition and right interpretation of which will teach the English people better to understand not only their poetry but their other activities as well.] James Brgce Born 1838 THE STRENGTH OF AMERICAN DEMOCRACY [Mr. Bryce's analysis of the strength of American democracy forms Chapter XCIX. of the third edition of The American Commonwealth (Macmillan and Company, 1895). It follows directly two chapters entitled The Supposed Faults of Democ- racy (XCVII.) and The True Faults of American Democracy (XCVIII.), and with them forms a larger unit. The American Commonwealth was first published in 1888. In the selection as printed the numerals which appear in the edition of 1895 opposite paragraphs II., IV., V., VI., VII., XL, and XIV., to indicate the seven general heads of the chapter, are omitted, since the division is clear without them.] I. Those merits of American government which belong to its Federal Constitution have already been discussed : ^ we have now to consider such as flow from the rule of public opinion, from the temper, habits, and ideas of the people. S II. The first is that of Stability. — As one test of a human body's soundness is its capacity for reaching a great age, so it is high praise for a political system that it has stood no more changed than any institution must change in a changing 10 1 See Chapters XXVII.-XXX. in Vol. I. — Bryce. »33 134 James Bryce world, and that it now gives every promise of dura- bility. The people are profoundly attached to the form which their national life has taken. The Fed- eral Constitution is, to their eyes, an almost sacred s thing, an Ark of the Covenant, whereon no man may lay rash hands. All over Europe one hears schemes of radical change freely discussed. There, is a strong monarchical party in France, a republican party in Italy and Spain, a social democratic party lo everywhere, not to speak of sporadic anarchist groups. Even in England, it is impossible to feel confident that any one of the existing institutions of the country will be standing fifty years hence. But in the United States the discussion of political IS problems busies itself with details, so far as the native Americans are concerned, and assumes that the main lines must remain as they are for ever. This conservative spirit, jealously watchful even in small matters, sometimes prevents reforms, but it 20 assures to the people an easy mind, and a trust in their future which they feel to be not only a present satisfaction, but a reservoir of strength. III. The best proof of the well-braced solidity of the system is that it survived the Civil War, changed 25 only in a few points which have not greatly affected the balance of National and State powers. Another must have struck every European traveller who ques- tions American publicists about the institutions of their country. When I first travelled in the United 30 States, I used to ask thoughtful men, superior to The Strength of American Democracy 135 the prejudices of custom, whether they did not think the States' system defective in such and such points, whether the legislative authority of Congress might not profitably be extended, whether the suffrage ought not to be restricted as regards negroes or s immigrants, and so forth. Whether assenting or dissenting, the persons questioned invariably treated such matters as purely speculative, saying that the present arrangements were too deeply rooted for their alteration to come within the horizon of prac- 10 tical politics. So when a serious trouble arises, such as might in Europe threaten revolution, the people face it quietly, and assume that a tolerable solution will be found. At the disputed election of 1876, when each of the two great parties, heated 15 with conflict, claimed that its candidate had been chosen President, and the Constitution supplied no way out of the difficulty, public tranquillity was scarcely disturbed, and the public funds fell but little. A method was invented^ of settling the ques- 20 tion which both sides acquiesced in, and although the decision was a boundless disappointment to the party which had cast the majority of the popular vote, that party quietly submitted to lose those spoils of office whereon its eyes had been feasting. 25 IV. Feeling the law to be their own work, the people are disposed to obey the law. — In a preced- ^ The so-called Electoral Commission, which chose Hayes, though he had received upwards of 200,000 votes less than Tilden, the Demo- cratic candidate. 136 James Bryce ing chapter^ I have examined occasional instances of the disregard of the law, and the supersession of its tardy methods by the action of the crowd. Such instances do not deprive the Americans of s the credit they claim to be a law-abiding commu- nity. It is the best result that can be ascribed to the direct participation of the people in their gov- ernment that they have the love of the maker for his work, that every citizen looks upon a statute as 10 a regulation made by himself for his own guidance no less than for that of others, every official as a person he has himself chosen, and whom it is there- fore his interest, with no disparagement to his per- sonal independence, to obey. Plato thought that IS those who felt their own sovereignty would be im- patient of all control: nor is it to be denied that the principle of equality may result in lowering the status and dignity of a magistrate. But as regards law and order the gain much exceeds the loss, for 20 every one feels that there is no appeal from the law, behind which there stands the force of the nation. Such a temper can exist and bear these fruits only where minorities, however large, have learned to submit patiently to majorities, however 25 small. But that is the one lesson which the Ameri- can government through every grade and in every department daily teaches, and which it has woven into the texture of every citizen's mind. The habit of living under a rigid constitution superior to ordi- » Chapter XCVII., third edition. The Strength of American Democracy 1^7 nary statutes — indeed two rigid constitutions, since the State Constitution is a fundamental law within its own sphere no less than is the Federal — inten- sifiles this legality of view, since it may turn all sorts of questions which have not been determined by a s direct vote of the people into questions of legal construction. It even accustoms people to submit to see their direct vote- given in the enactment of a State Constitution nullified by the decision of a court holding that the Federal Constitution has. lo been contravened. Every page of American history illustrates the wholesome results. The events of the last few years present an instance of the con- straint which the people put on themselves in order to respect every form of law. The Mormons, a com- is munity not exceeding 140,000 persons, persistently defied all the efforts of Congress to root out polyg- amy, a practice eminently repulsive to American notions. If they inhabited a State, Congress could not have interfered at all, but as Utah is only a ao Territory, Congress has not only a power of legis- lating for it which overrides Territorial ordinances passed by the local legislature, but the right to apply military force independent of local authorities. Thus the Mormons were really at the mercy of the 23 Federal government, had it chosen to employ violent methods. But by entrenching themselves behind the letter of the Constitution, they continued for many years to maintain their "peculiar institution" by evading the statutes passed against it and chal- 30 138 James Bryce lenging a proof which under the common law rules of evidence it was usually found impossible to give. Declaimers hounded on Congress to take arbitrary means for the suppression of the practice, but Con- s gress and the executive submitted to be outwitted rather than depart from the accustomed principles of legislation, and succeeded at last only by a statute whose searching but strictly constitutional provisions the recalcitrants failed to evade. The same spirit 10 of legality shows itself in misgoverned cities. Even where it is notorious that officials have been chosen by the grossest fraud and that they are robbing the city, the body of the people, however indignant, recognise the authority, and go on paying the taxes IS which a Ring levies, because strict legal proof of the frauds and robberies is not forthcoming. Wrong- doing supplies a field for the display of virtue. V. There is a broad simplicity about the political ideas of the people, and a courageous consistency in 20 carrying them out in practice. When they have accepted a principle, they do not shrink from apply- ing it " right along," however disagreeable in particu- lar cases some of the results may be. I am far from meaning that they are logical in the French sense 25 of the word. They have little taste either for assum- ing abstract propositions or for syllogistically deduc- ing practical conclusions therefrom. But when they have adopted a general maxim of policy or rule of action they show more faith in it than the English 30 for instance would do, they adhere to it where the The Strength of American Democracy 139 English would make exceptions, they prefer certainty and uniformity to the advantages which might occa- sionally be gained by deviation.* If this tendency is partly the result of obedience to a rigid constitu- tion, it is no less due to the democratic dislike of s exceptions and complexities, which the multitude finds not only difficult of comprehension but disquiet- ing to the individual who may not know how they will affect him. Take for instance the boundless freedom of the press. There are abuses obviously 10 incident to such freedom, and these abuses have not failed to appear. But the Americans deliberately hold that in view of the benefits which such freedom on the whole promises, abuses must be borne with and left to the sentiment of the people and the is private law of libel to deal with. When the Ku Klux^ outrages disgraced several of the Southern States after the military occupation of those States had ceased, there was much to be said for sending back the troops to protect the negroes and Northern 20 * What has been said (Chapters XLIV. and'XLV.) of special and local legislation by the State legislatures may seem an exception to this rule. Such legislation, however, is usually procured in the dark and by questionable means. Looking both to the National and to the State governments, it may be said that, with a few exceptions, no people has shown a greater regard for public obligations, and that no people has more prudently and honourably refrained from legislation bearing hardly upon the rich, or indeed upon any class whatever. — Bryce. ^ The Ku Klux Klan originated in the South in 1867, and until its suppression by the "Force Bill" of 1871, which restored right of pro- tection to the South, was guilty of many outrages against the negroes. 140 James Bryce immigrants. But the general judgment that things ought to be allowed to take their natural course prevailed ; and the result justified this policy, for the outrages after a while died out, when ordinary 5 self-government had been restored. When recently a gigantic organisation of unions of working men, purporting to unite the whole of American labour, attempted to enforce its sentences against particular firms or corporations by a boycott in which all 10 labourers were urged to join, there was displeasure, but no panic, no call for violent remedies. The pre- vailing faith in liberty and m the good" sense of the mass was unshaken ; and the result soon justified this tranquil faith. Such a tendency is not an un- is mixed blessing, for it sometimes allows evils to go too long unchecked. But in giving equability to the system of government it gives steadiness and strength. It teaches the people patience, accus- toming them to expect relief only by constitutional zo means. It confirms their faith in their institutions, as friends value one another more when their friend- ship has stood the test of a journey full of hardships. VI. American government, relying very little on officials, has the merit of arming them with little 25 power of arbitrary interference. The reader who has followed the description of Federal authorities State authorities, county and city or township author- ities,^ may think there is a great deal of adminis- ^ See Parts I. and II., which comprise the entire first volume of The American CcimmonweaUh- The Strength of American Democracy 141 tration ; but the description has been minute just because the powers of each authority are so care- fully and closely restricted. It is natural to fancy that a government of the people and by the people will be led to undertake many and various functions s for the people, and in the confidence of its strength will constitute itself a general philanthropic agency for their social and economic benefit. There has doubtless been of late years a current running in this direction.'' But the paternalism of America 10 differs from that of Europe in acting not so much through officials as through the law. That is to say, when it prescribes to the citizen a particular course of action it relies upon the ordinary legal sanctions, instead of, investing the administrative 15 officers with inquisitorial duties or powers that might prove oppressive, and when it devolves active func- tions upon officials, they are functions serving to aid the individual and the community rather than to interfere with or supersede the action of pri- 20 vate enterprise. Having dwelt on the evils which may flow from the undue application of the doc- trine of direct popular sovereignty, I must remind the European reader that it is only fair to place to the credit of that doctrine and of the arrange- 25 ments it has dictated, the intelligence which the average native American shows in his political judgments, the strong sense he entertains of the duty of giving a vote, the spirit of alertness and ' See Chapter YJZ'^ . — Bryce. 142 James Bryce enterprise, which has made him self-helpful above all other men. VII. There are no struggles between privileged and unprivileged orders, not even that perpetual 5 strife of rich and poor which is the oldest disease of civilised states. One must not pronounce broadly that there are no classes, for in parts of the country social distinctions have begun to grow up. But for political purposes classes scarcely exist. No one of 10 the questions which now agitate the nation is a question between rich and poor. Instead of sus- picion, jealousy, and arrogance embittering the rela- tions of classes, good feeling and kindliness reign. Everything that government, as the Americans have IS hitherto understood the term, can give them, the poorer class have already, political power, equal civil rights, a career open to all citizens alike, not to speak of that gratuitous higher as well as elementary education which on their own economic principles 20 the United States might have abstained from giving, but which political reasons have led them to provide with so unstinting a hand. Hence the poorer have had nothing to fight for, no grounds for disliking the well-to-do, no complaints to make against them. 25 The agitation of the last few years has been directed, not against the richer sort generally, but against incorporated companies and a few wealthy capitalists, who are deemed to have abused the powers which the privilege of incorporation conferred upon them, 30 or employed their wealth to procure legislation unfair The Strength of American Democracy 143 to the public. Where violent language has been used like that with which France and- Germany are familiar, it has been used, not by native Americans, but by new-comers, who bring their Old World pas- sions with them. Property is safe, because those 5 who hold it are far more numerous than those who do not : the usual motives for revolution vanish ; universal suffrage, even when vested in ignorant new-comers, can do comparatively little harm, be- cause the masses have obtained everything which 10 they could hope to attain except by a general pillage. And the native Americans, though the same cannot be said of some of the recent immigrants, are shrewd enough to see that the poor would suffer from such pillage no less than the rich. 13 VIII. [Revising this chapter in 1894, I leave these words, which were written in 1888, to stand as they were. They then expressed, as I believe, the view which the most judicious Americans them- selves took of their country. Looking at the labour 20 troubles of the last three years, and especially at the great railroad strike riots of July, 1894,^ that view may seem too roseate. It is, however, to be remem- bered that those riots were mainly the work of recent immigrants, whom American institutions have 25 not had time to educate, though the folly of abstract theory has confided votes to them ; and it must also 8 The well-known strike begun by the employees of the Pullman Company at Chicago, in which much property was destroyed and sev- eral lives lost. 144 James Bryce be noted that the opinion of the native Americansj with little distinction of class, approved the bold- ness with which the Federal executive went to the extreme limit of its constitutional powers in repress- s ing them. In any case it seems better to await the teachings of the next few years rather than let matured conclusions be suddenly modified by passing events.] IX. A European censor may make two reflections lo on the statement of this part of the case. He will observe that, after all, it is no more than saying that when you have got to the bottom you can fall no farther. And he will ask whether, if property is safe and contentment reigns, these advantages are IS not due to the economical conditions of a. new and resourceful country, with an abundance of unoccu- pied land and mineral wealth, rather than to the , democratic structure of the government. The answer to the first objection is, that the desceht towards 20 equality and democracy has involved no injury to the richer or better educated classes : to the second, that although much must doubtless be ascribed to the bounty of nature, her favours have been so used by the people as to bring about a prosperity, a 25 general diffusion of property, an abundance of free- dom, of equality, and of good feeling which furnish the best security against the recurrence in America of chronic Old World evils, even when her economic state shall have become less auspicious than it now 30 is. Wealthy and powerful such a country must The Strength of American Democracy 145 have been under any form of government, but the speed with which she has advanced, and the employ- ment of the sources of wealth to diffuse comfort among millions of families, may be placed to the credit of stimulative freedom. Wholesome habits s have been established among the people whose value will be found when the times of pressure approach, knd though the troubles that have arisen between labour and capital may not soon pass away, the sense of human equality, the absence of offensive 10 privileges distinguishing class from class, will make those troubles less severe than in Europe, where they are complicated by the recollection of old wrongs, by arrogance on the one side and envy on the other. . is X. Some American panegyrists of democracy have weakened their own case by claiming for a form of government all the triumphs which modern science has wrought in a land of unequalled natural resources. An active European race would probably 20 have made America rich and prosperous under any government. But the volume and the character of the prosperity attained may be in large measure asfcribed to the institutions of the: country. As Mr. Charles W. Eliot observes in a singularly thoughtful 25 address : — "Sensible and righteous government ought ultimately to make a nation rich ; and although this proposition cannot be directly reversed, yet diffused well-being, comfort, and material prosperity establish a fair presumption in favour of the govern- 30 146 James Bryce ment and the prevailing social conditions under which these blessings have been secured. . . . " The successful establishment and support of religious insti- tutions — churches, seminaries, and religious charities — upon a S purely voluntary system, is an unprecedented achievement of the American democracy. In only three generations American democratic society has effected the complete separation of Church and State, a reform which no other people has ever attempted. Yet religious institutions are not stinted in the 10 United States ; on the contrary, they abound and thrive, and all alike are protected and encouraged, but not supported, by the State. . . . The maintenance of churches, seminaries, and charities by voluntary contributions and by the administrative labours of volunteers, implies an enormous and incessant expen- iS diture of mental and moral force. It is a force which must ever be renewed from generation to generation ; for it is a personal force, constantly expiring, and as ifconstantly to be replaced. Into the maintenance of the voluntary system in religion has gone a good part of the moral energy which three generations 20 have been able to spare from the work of getting a living ; but it is worth the sacrifice, and will be accounted in history one of the most remarkable feats of American public spirit and faith in freedom. " A similar exhibition of diffused mental and moral energy 25 has accompanied the establishment and the development of a system of higher instruction in the United States, with no inheritance of monastic endowments, and no gifts from royal or ecclesiastical personages disposing of great resources derived from the State, and with but scanty help from the public purse. 30 Whoever is familiar with the colleges and universities of the United States knows that the creation of these democratic insti- tutions has cost the life-work of thousands of devoted men. At the sacrifice of other aspirations, and under heavy discourage- ments and disappointments, but with faith and hope, these 35 teachers and trustees have built up institutions, which, howevei The Strength of American Democracy 147 imperfect, have cherished scientific enthusiasm, fostered piety, literature, and art, maintained the standards of honour and public duty, and steadily kept in view the ethical ideals which democracy, cherishes. It has been a popular work, to which large numbers of people in successive generations have con- s tributed of their substance or of their labour. The endowment of institutions of education, including libraries and museums, by private persons in the United States is a phenomenon without precedent or parallel, and is a legitimate eiTect of democratic institutions. Under a tyranny — were it that of a Marcus 10 Aurelius — or an oligarchy — were it as enlightened as that which now rules Germany — such a phenomenon would be simply impossible. Like the voluntary system in religion, the voluntary system in the higher education buttresses democracy ; each demands from the community a large outlay of intellectual 15 activity and moral vigour." XI. The government of the Republic, limited and languid in ordinary times, is capable of developing immense vigour. It can pull itself together at moments of danger, can put forth unexpected efforts, 20 can venture on stretches of authority transcending not only ordinary practice but even ordinary law. This is the result of the unity of the nation. A divided people is a weak people, even if it obeys a monarch ; a united people is doubly strong when it is 25 democratic, for then the force of each individual will swells the collective force of the government, encour- ages it, relieves it from internal embarrassments. Now the American people is united at moments of national concern from* two causes. One is that 30 absence of class divisions and jealousies which has been already described. The people are homoge- 148 James Bryce neous : a feeling which stirs them stirs alike rich and poor, farmers and traders, Eastern men and Western men — one may now add. Southern men also. Their patriotism has ceased to be defiant, and s is conceived as the duty of promoting the greatness and happiness of their country, a greatness which, as it does not look to war or aggression, does not redound specially, as it might in Europe, to the glory or benefit of the ruling caste or the military profes- 10 sion, but to that of all the citizens. The other source of unity is the tendency in democracies for the sentiment of the majority to tell upon the senti- ment of a minority. That faith in the popular voice whereof I have already spoken strengthens every IS feeling which has once become strong, and makes it rush like a wave over the country, sweeping everything before it. I do not mean that the peo- ple become wild with excitement, for beneath their noisy demonstrations they retain their composure and 20 shrewd view of facts. I mean only that the pervad- ing sympathy stirs them to unwonted efforts. The steam is superheated, but the effect is seen only in the greater expansive force which it exerts. Hence a spirited executive can in critical times go forward 25 with a courage and confidence possible only to those who know that they have a whole nation behind them. The people fall into rank at once. With that surprising gift for organization which they possess, they concentrate themselves on the imme- 30 diate object ; they dispense with the ordinary con- The Strength of American Democracy 149 stitutional restrictions ; they make personal sacrifices which remind one of the self-devotion of Roman citizens in the earlier days of Rome. XII. Speaking thus, I am thinking chiefly of the spirit evolved by the Civil War in both the North s and the South. But the sort of strength which a democratic government derives from its direct de- pendence on the people is seen in many smaller instances. In 1863, when on the making of a draft of men for the war, the Irish mob rose in New York 10 City, excited by the advance of General Robert E. Lee into Pennsylvania, the State government called out the troops, and by them restored order with a stern vigour which would have done credit to Radetz- sky or Cavaignac. More than a thousand rioters is were shot down, and public opinion entirely ap- proved the slaughter. Years after the war, when the Orangemen of New York purposed to have a 1 2th of July procession through the streets, the Irish Catholics threatened to prevent it. The feeling of 20 the native Americans was aroused at once ; young men of wealth came back from their mountain and seaside resorts to fill the militia regiments which were called out to guard the procession, and the dis- play of force was so overwhelming that no disturb- 25 ance followed. These Americans had no sympathy with the childish and mischievous partisanship which leads the Orangemen to perpetuate Old World feuds on New World soil. But processions were legal, and they were resolved that the law should be respected, 30 150 James Bryce and the spirit of disorder repressed. They would have been equally ready to protect a Roman Catho- lic procession. XIII. Given an adequate occasion, executive au- 5 thority in America can better venture to take strong measures, and feels more sure of support from the body of the people than is the case in England. When there is a failure to enforce the law, the fault lies at the door, not of the people, but of 10 timid or time-serving officials who fear to offend some interested section of the voters. XIV. Democracy has not only taught the Ameri- cans how to use liberty without abusing it, and how to secure equality : it has also taught them IS fraternity. That word has gone out of fashion in the Old World, and no wonder, considering what was done in its name in 1793,^ considering also that it still figures in the programme of assassins. Nevertheless there is in the United States a sort 20 of kindliness, a sense of human fellowship, a recog- nition of the duty of mutual help owed by man to man, stronger than anywhere in the Old World, and certainly stronger than in the upper or middle classes of England, France, or Germany. The 25 natural impulse of every citizen in America is to respect every other citizen, and to feel that citizen- ' The watchwords of the French Revolution and the Reign of Terror were Liberie, &galite, Fraternitl, and in their names were committed all the crimes of the time. It is still a favourite phrase among anarchists. The Strength of American Democracy 151 ship constitutes a certain ground of respect. The idea of each man's equal rights is so fully realized that the rich or powerful man feels it no indignity to take his turn among the crowd, and does not expect any deference from the poorest. An individ- s ual employer of labour (for one cannot say the same of corporations) has, I think, a keener sense of his duty to those whom he employs than employers have in continental Europe. He has certainly a greater sense of responsibility for the use of his 10 wealth. The number of gifts for benevolent and other public purposes, the number of educational, artistic, literary, and scientific foundations, is larger than even in Britain, the wealthiest and most liberal of European countries. Wealth is generally felt to is be a trust, and exclusiveness condemned not merely as indicative of selfishness, but as a sort of offence against the public. No one, for instance, thinks of shutting up his pleasure-grounds ; he seldom even tuilds a wall round them, but puts up low railings 20 or a palisade, so that the sight of his trees and shrubs is enjoyed by passers-by. That any one should be permitted either by opinion or by law to seal up many square miles of beautiful mountain country against tourists or artists is to the ordinary 25 American almost incredible. Such things are to him the marks of a land still groaning under feudal tyranny. XV. It may seem strange to those who know how difficult European states have generally found it to 30 152 James Bryce conduct negotiations with the government of the United States, and who are accustomed to read in European newspapers the defiant utterances which American politicians address from Congress to the 5 effete monarchies of the Old World, to be told that this spirit of fraternity has its influence on interna- tional relations also. Nevertheless if we look not at the irresponsible orators, who play to the lower feelings of a section of the people, but at the general 10 sentiment of the whole people, we shall recognize that democracy makes both for peace and for justice as between nations. Despite the admiration for mil- itary exploits which the Americans have sometimes shown, no country is at bottom more pervaded by IS a hatred of war, and a sense that national honour stands rooted in national fair dealing. The nation is often misrepresented by its statesmen, but al- though it allows them to say irritating things and advance unreasonable claims, it has not for more 20 than forty years permitted them to abuse its enor- mous strength, as most European nations possessed of similar strength have in time past abused theirs. XVI. The characteristics of the nation which I have passed in review are not due solely to demo- 25 cratic government, but they have been strengthened by it, and they contribute to its solidity and to the smoothness of its working. As one sometimes sees an individual man who fails in life because the dif- ferent parts of his nature seem unfitted to each 30 other, so that his action, swayed by contending in- The Strength of American Democracy 153 fluences, results in nothing definite or effective, so one sees nations whose political institutions are either in advance of or lag behind their social con- ditions, so that the unity of the body politic suffers, and the harmony of its movements is disturbed, s America is not such a nation. There have, no doubt, been two diverse influences at work on the minds of men. One is the conservative English spirit, brought from home, expressed, and (if one may say so) entrenched in those fastnesses of the Federal 10 Constitution, and (to a less degree) of the State con- stitutions, which reveal their English origin. The other is the devotion to democratic equality and popular sovereignty, due partly to Puritanism, partly to abstract theory, partly to the circumstances of 15 the Revolutionary struggle. But since neither of these two streams of tendency has been able to over- come the other, they have at last become so blent as to form a definite type of political habits, and a self-consistent body of political ideas. Thus it may 20 now be said that the country is made all of a piece. Its institutions have become adapted to its economic and social conditions and are the due expression of its character. The new wine has been poured into new bottles : or to adopt a metaphor more appro- 25 priate to the country, the vehicle has been built with a lightness, strength, and elasticity which fit it for the roads it has to traverse. VI 3otn Eusfein Born 1819 THE CROWN OP WILD OLIVE INTRODUCTION 1 [7%« Crown of Wild Olive consists of a series of four lectures on Work, Traffic, War, and i'he Future of England, delivered at various times and before various audiences of Englishmen — operatives, merchants, and soldiers. The first three lectures were published in 1866, the last, delivered in 1869, was added to the volume in 1873. The Introduction, formerly called the Preface, appeared in its present form in the same year. It is character- istic of Ruslcin's point of view and is an excellent example of his earnest, fervid eloquence in dealing with conduct and life. The text is that of the Brantwood edition of the works of John Ruskin, published by Messrs. Maynard, Merrill, and Com- pany, of New Yorkj with whose kind permission the passage is reprinted.] I. Twenty years ago, there was no lovelier piece of lowland scenery in South England, nor any more pathetic, in the world, by its expression of sweet human character and life, than that immediately 5 bordering on the sources of the Wandel, and in- cluding the low moors of Addington, and the vil- 1 Called the Preface in former editions; it is one of my bad habits to put half my books into preface. Of this one, the only prefa- tory thing I have to say is that most of the contents are stated more 154 The Crown of Wild Olive 155 lages of Beddington and Carshalton, with all their pools and streams. No cleaner or diviner waters ever sang with constant lips of the hand which " giveth rain from heaven " ; no pastures ever light- ened in spring-time with more passionate blossom- ing; no sweeter homes ever hallowed the heart ot the passer-by with their pride of peaceful gladness, — fain-hidden — yet full-confessed. The place re- mains (1870) nearly unchanged in its larger feat- ures ; but with deliberate mind I say, that I have 10 never seen anything so ghastly in its inner tragic meaning, — not in Pisan Maremma, — not by Cam- pagna tomb, — not by the sand-isles of the Torcellan shore, — as the slow stealing of aspects of reckless, indolent, animal neglect, over the delicate sweetness is of that English scene : nor is any blasphemy or im- piety, any frantic saying, or godless thought, more appalling to me, using the best power of judgment I have to discern its sense and scope, than the insolent defiling of those springs by the human 20 herds that drink of them. Just where the welling of stainless water, trembling and pure, like a body of light, enters the pool at Carshalton, cutting itself a radiant channel down to the gravel, through warp of feathery weeds, all waving, which it traverses 23 with its deep threads of clearness, like the chalced- fuUy in my other volumes; but here, are put in what, at least, I meant to be a more popular form, all but this introduction, which was written very carefully to be read, not spoken, and the last lecture on the Future of England, with which, and the following notes on it, I have taken extreme pains. — Ruskin. 156 John Ruskin ony in moss-agate, starred here and there with the white grenouillette ; just in the very rush and mur- mur of the first spreading currents, the human wretches of the place cast their street and house s foulness ; heaps of dust and slime, and broken shreds of old metal, and rags of putrid clothes ; which, having neither energy to cart away, nor de- cency enough to dig into the ground, they thus shed into the stream, to diffuse what venom of it 10 will float and melt, far away, in all places where God meant those waters to bring joy and health. And, in a little pool behind some houses farther in the village, where another spring rises, the shat- tered stones of the well, and of the little fretted IS channel which was long ago built and traced for it by gentler hands, lie scattered, each from each, under a ragged bank of mortar, and scoria, and bricklayer's refuse, on one side, which the clean water nevertheless chastises to purity ; but it can- 20 not conquer the dead earth beyond : and there, cir- cled and coiled under festering scum, the stagnant edge of the pool effaces itself into a slope of black slime, the accumulation of indolent years. Half-a- dozen men, with one day's work, could cleanse those 2S pools, and trim the flowers about their banks, and make every breath of summer air above them rich with cool balm ; and every glittering wave medic- inal, as if it ran, troubled only of angels, from the porch of Bethesda. But that day's work is never 30 given, nor, I suppose, will be; nor will any joy be The Crown of Wild Olive 157 possible to heart of man, for evermore, about those wells of English waters. II. When I last left them, I walked up slowly through the back streets of Croydon, from the old church to the hospital ; and, just on the left, before s coming up to the crossing of the High Street, there was a new public-house built. And the front of it was built in so wise manner, that a recess of two feet was left below its front windows, between them and the street-pavement ; a recess too narrow for 10 any possible use, (for even if it had been occupied by a seat, as in old time it might have been, every- body walking along the street would have fallen over the legs of the reposing wayfarer). But, by way of making this two feet depth of freehold land more 15 expressive of the dignity of an establishment for the sale of spirituous liquors, it was fenced from the pavement by an imposing iron railing, having four or five spear-heads to the yard of it, and six feet high ; containing as much iron and iron-work, indeed, 20 as could well be put into the space ; and by this stately arrangement, the little piece of dead ground within, between wall and street, became a protective receptacle of refuse ; cigar ends, and oyster shells, and the like, such as an open-handed English street- 25 populace habitually scatters ; and was thus left, un- sweepable by any ordinary methods. Now the iron bars which, uselessly (or in great degree worse than uselessly) enclosed this bit of ground, and made it pestilent, represented a quantity of work which would 30 158 John Ruskin have cleansed the Carshalton pools three times over : of work, partly cramped and perilous, in, the mine; partly grievous and horrible, at the furnace : partly foolish and sedentary, of ill-taught students making 5 bad designs : work from the beginning to the last fruits of it, and in all the branches of it, venomous, deathful,^ and miserable. III. Now, how did it come to pass that this work was done instead of the other ; that the strength and 10 life of the English operative were spent in defiling ground, instead of redeeming it, and in producing an entirely (in that place) valueless, piece of metal, which can neither be eaten nor breathed, instead of medicinal fresh air and pure water } IS IV. There is but one reason for it, and at present a conclusive one, — that the capitalist can charge percentage on the work in the one case, and cannot in the other. If, having certain funds for supporting labour at my disposal, I pay men merely to keep my 2 " A fearful occurrence took place a few days since, near Wolver- hampton. Thomas Snape, aged nineteen, was on duty as the ' keeper ' of a blast furnace at Deepfield, assisted by John Gardner, aged eigh- teen, and Joseph Swift, aged thirty-seven. The furnace contained four tons of molten iron, and an equal amount of cinders, and ought to have been run out at 7.30 P.M. But Snape and his mates, engaged in talking and drinking, neglected their duty, and, in the meantime, the iron rose in the furnace until it reached a pipe wherein water was con- tained. Just as the men had stripped, and were proceeding to tap the furnace, the water in the pipe, converted into steam, burst down its front and let loose on them the molten metal, which instantaneously consumed Gardner : Snape, terribly burnt, and mad with pain, leaped into the canal and then ran home and fell dead on the threshold; Swift survived to reach the hospital, where he died too." — Ruskin. The Crown of Wild Olive 159 ground in order, my money is, in that function, spent once for all ; but if I pay them to dig iron out of my ground, and work it, and sell it, I can charge rent for the ground, and percentage both on the manufacture and the sale, and make my capital s profitable in these three by-ways. The greater part of the profitable investment of capital, in the present day, is in operations of this kind, in which the public is persuaded to buy something of no use to it, on production or sale of which the capitalist may charge 10 percentage ; the said public remaining all the while under the persuasion that the percentages thus obtained are real national gains, whereas, they are merely filchings out of light pockets, to swell heavy ones. 15 V. Thus, the Croydon publican buys the iron rail- ing, to make himself more conspicuous to drunkards. The public-housekeeper on the other side of the way presently buys another railing, to out-rail him with. Both are, as to their relative attractiveness, just 20 where they were before ; but they have both lost the price of the railings ; which they must either them- selves finally lose, or make their aforesaid customers, the amateurs of railings, pay, by raising the price of their beer, or adulterating it. Either the publicans, 25 or their customers, are thus poorer by precisely what the capitalist has gained ; and the value of the in- dustry itself, meantime, has been lost to the nation ; the iron bars, in that form and place, being wholly useless, 30 i6o John Ruskin VI. It is this mode of taxation of the poor by the rich which is referred to in the text (§ 34), in comparing the modern acquisitive power of capital with that of the lance and sword ; the only differ- s ence being that the levy of black mail in old times was by force, and is now by cozening. The old rider and reiver frankly quartered himself on the publican for the night; — the modern one merely makes his lance into an iron spike, and persuades lo his host to buy it. One comes as an open robber, the other as a cheating pedlar; but the result, to the injured person's pocket, is absolutely the same. Of course many useful industries mingle with, and disguise the useless ones ; and in the habits of IS energy aroused by the struggle, there is a certain direct good. . It is better to spend four thousand pounds in making a gun, and then to blow it to pieces, than to pass life in idleness. Only do not let the proceeding be called "political economy." 20 VII. There is also a confused notion in the minds of many persons, that the gathering of the property of the poor into the handfe of the rich does no ulti- mate harm ; since, in whosesoever hands it may be, it must be spent at last ; and thus, they think, return 25 to the poor again. This fallacy has been again and again exposed ; but granting the plea true, the same apology may, of course, be made for black mail, or any other form of robbery. It might be (though practically it never is) as advantageous for the nation 30 that the robber should have the spending of the The Crozvn of Wild Olive i6l money he extorts, as that the person robbed should have spent it. But this is no excuse for the theft. If I were to put a turnpike on the road where it passes my own gate, and endeavour to exact a shil- ling from every passenger, the public would soon do s away with my gate, without listening to any plea on my part that "it was as advantageous to them, in the end, that I should spend their shillings, as that they themselves should." But if, instead of out- facing them with a turnpike, I can only persuade lo them to come in and buy stones, or old iron, or any such useless thing, out of my ground, I may rob them to the same extent, and be, moreover, thanked as a public benefactor, and promoter of commercial prosperity. And this main question for the poor of is England — for the popr of all countries — is wholly omitted in every common treatise on the subject of wealth. Even by the labourers themselves, the operation of capital is regarded only in, its effect on their immediate interests ; never in the far more zo terrific power of its appointment of the kind and the object of labour. It matters little, ultimately, how much a labourer is paid for making anything ; but it matters fearfully what the thing is, which he is compelled to make. If his labour is so ordered 25 as to produce food, and fresh air, and fresh water, no matter that his wages are low ; — the food and fresh air and water will be at last there ; and he will at last get them. But if he is paid to destroy food and fresh air, or to produce iron bars instead of ther — 30 1 62 John Ruskin the food and air will finally not be there, and he will not get them, to his great and final inconvenience. VIII. I have been long accustomed, as all men engaged in work of investigation must be, to hear s my statements laughed at for years, before they are examined or believed ; and I am generally content to wait the public's time. But it has not been with- out displeased surprise that I have found myself to- tally unable, as yet, by any repetition, or illustration, lo to force this plain thought into my readers' heads, — that the wealth of nations, as of men, consists in substance, not in ciphers ; and that the real good of all work, and of all commerce, depends on the final intrinsic worth of the thing you make or get by it.^ IS This is a " practical " enough statement, one would think : but the English public has been so possessed by its modern school of economists with the notion that Business is always good, whether it be busy in mischief or in benefit ; and that buying and selling 20 are always salutary, whatever the intrinsic worth of what you buy or sell, that it seems impossible to gain so much as a patient hearing for any inquiry respecting the substantial result of our eager modern labour. 25 IX. I have never felt more checked by the sense .of this impossibility than in arranging the heads of the following lectures, which, though delivered at considerable intervals of time, and in different places, were not prepared without reference to each other. • Compare preface to Munera Pulveris. — Ruskin. The Crown of Wild Olive 163 Their connection would, however, have been made far more distinct if I had not been prevented, by what I feel to be another great difificulty in address- ing English audiences, from enforcing, with any decision, the common, and to me the most impor- s tant, part of their subjects. I chiefly desired to ques- tion my hearers — operatives, merchants, and soldiers — as to the ultimate meaning of the business they had in hand ; and to know from them what they expected or intended their manufacture to come to, 10 their selling to come to, and their killing to come to. That appeared the first point needing deter- mination before I could speak to them with any real utility or effect. "You craftsmen — salesmen — swordsmen, — do but tell me clearly what you is want ; then, if I can say anything to help you, I will ; and if not, I will account to you as I best may for my inability." X. But in order to put this question into any terms, one has first of all to face a difficulty — to 20 me for the present insuperable, — the difficulty of knowing whether to address one's audience as be- lieving, or not believing, in any other world than this. For if you address any average modern Eng- lish company as believing in an Eternal life ; and 25 then endeavour to draw any conclusions from this assumed belief, as to their present business, they will forthwith tell you that " what you say is very beautiful, but it is not practical." If, on the con- trary, you frankly address them as ««believers in 30 164 John Ruskin Eternal life, and try to draw any consequences from that unbelief, — they immediately hold you for an accursed person, and shake off the dust from their feet at you. s XI. And the more I thought over what I had got to say, the less I found I could say it, without some reference to this intangible or intractable question. It made all the difference, in asserting any principle of war, whether one assumed that a discharge of 10 artillery would merely knead down a certain quantity of once living clay into a level line, as in a brick- field ; or whether, out of every separately Christian- named portion of the ruinous heap, there went out, into the smoke and dead-fallen air of battle, some IS astonished condition of soul, unwillingly released. It made all the difference, in speaking of the pos- sible range of commerce, whether one assumed that all bargains related only to visible property — or whether property, for the present invisible, but 20 nevertheless real, was elsewhere purchasable on other terms. It made all the difference, in address- ing a body of men subject to considerable hardship, and having to find some way out of it — whether one could confidently say to them, "My friends, — you 25 have only to die, and all will be right ; " or whether one had any secret misgiving that such advice was more blessed to him that gave than to him that took it. XII. And therefore the deliberate reader will find, 30 throughout these lectures, a hesitation in driving The Crown of Wild Olive 165 points home, and a pausing short of conclusions which he will feel I would fain have come to; — hesitation which arises wholly from this uncertainty of my hearers' temper. For I do not speak, nor have I ever spoken, since the time of first forward s youth, in any proselytizing temper, as desiring to persuade any one to believe anything; but whom- soever I venture to address, I take for the time, his creed as I find it ; and endeavour to push it into such vital fruit as it seems capable of. Thus, it is 10 a creed with a great part of the existing English people, that they are in possession of a book which tells them, straight from the lips of God, all they ought to do, and need to know. I have read that book, with as much care as most of them, for some is forty years ; and am thankful that, on those who trust it, I can press its pleadings. My endeavour has been uniformly to make them trust it more deeply than they do ; trust it, not in their own favourite verses only, but in the sum of all ; trust 20 it, not as a fetish or talisman, which they are to be saved by daily repetitions of ; but as a Captain's order, to be heard and obeyed at their peril. I was always encouraged by supposing my hearers to hold such belief. To these, if to any, I once had hope 25 of addressing, with acceptance, words which insisted on the guilt of pride, and the futility of avarice ; from these, if from any, I once expected ratification of a political -economy, which asserted that the life was more than the meat, and the body than raiment ; 30 1 66 John Ruskin and these, it once seemed to me, I might ask, with- out being accused of fanaticism, not merely in doc- trine of the lips, but in the bestowal of their heart's treasure, to separate themselves from the crowd of s whom it is written, "After all these things do the Gentiles seek." XIII. It cannot, however, be assumed, with any semblance of reason, that a general audience is now wholly, or even in majority, composed of these relig- lo ious persons. A large portion must always consist of men who admit no such creed ; or who, at least, are inaccessible to appeals founded on it. And as, with the so-called Christian, I desired to plead for honest declaration and fulfilment of his belief in life, IS — with the so-called Infidel, I desired to plead for an honest declaration and fulfilment of his belief in death. The dilemma is inevitable. Men must either hereafter live, or hereafter die ; fate may be bravely met, and conduct wisely ordered, on either expecta- 20 tion ; but never in hesitation between ungrasped hope and unconfronted fear. We usually believe in immortality, so far as to avoid preparation for death ; and in mortality, so far as to avoid preparation for anything after death. Whereas, a wise man will 25 at least hold himself ready for one or other of two events, of which one or other is inevitable ; and will have all things ended in order, for his sleep, or left in order, for his awakening. XIV. Nor have we any right to call it an ignoble 30 judgment, if he determine to end them in order, as The Crown of Wild Olive 167 for sleep. A brave belief in life is indeed an envi- able state of mind, but as far as I can discern, an unusual one. I know few Christians so convinced of the splendour of the rooms in their Father's house, as to be happier when their friends are called s to those mansions, than they would have been if the Queen had sent for them to live at Court : nor has the Church's most ardent "desire to depart, and be with Christ," ever cured it of the singular habit of putting on mourning for every person summoned to 10 such departure. On the contrary, a brave belief in death has been assuredly held by many not ignoble persons ; and it is a sign of the last depravity in the Church itself, when it assumes that such a be- lief is inconsistent with either purity of character, is or energy of hand. The shortness of life is not, to any rational person, a conclusive reason for wasting the space of it which may be granted him ; nor does the anticipation of death, to-morrow, suggest, to any one but a drunkard, the expediency of drunkenness zo to-day. To teach that there is no device in the grave, may indeed make the deviceless person more contented in his dulness : but it will make the de- viser only more earnest in devising : nor is human conduct likely, in every case, to be purer, under the 25 conviction that all its evil may in a moment be pardoned, and all its wrong-doing in a moment re- deemed ; and that the sigh of repentance, which purges the guilt of the past, will waft the soul into a felicity which forgets its pain, — than it may be 30 1 68 John Ruskin under the sterner, and to many not unwise minds, more probable, apprehension, that " what a man soweth that shall he also reap " — or others reap, — when he, the living seed of pestilence, walketh s no more in darkness, but lies down therein. XV. But to men for whom feebleness of sight, or bitterness of soul, or the offence given by the conduct of those who claim higher hope, may have rendered this painful creed the only possible one, lo there is an appeal to be made, more secure than any which can be addressed to happier persons. Might not a preacher, in comfortless, but faithful, zeal — from the poor height of a grave-hillock for his Hill of Mars, and with the Cave of the Eumenides 15 at his side — say to them thus : Hear me, you dying men, who will soon be deaf for ever. For these others, at your right hand and your left, who look forward to a state of infinite existence, in which all their errors will be overruled, and all their faults 20 forgiven; — for these, who, stained and blackened in the battle smoke of mortality, have but to dip them- selves for an instant in the font of death, and to rise renewed of plumage, as a dove that is covered with silver, and her feathers like gold : — for these, 25 indeed, it may be permissible to waste their num- bered moments, through faith in a future of innu- merable hours; to these, in their weakness it may be conceded that they should tamper with sin which can only bring forth fruit of righteousness, and profit 30 by the iniquity which, one day, will be remembered The Crown of Wild Olive 169 no more. In them, it may be no sign of hardness of heart to neglect the poor, over whom they know their Master is watching ; and to leave those to perish temporarily, who cannot perish eternally. But, for you there is no such hope, and therefore no s such excuse. This fate, which you ordain for the wretched, you believe to be all their inheritance ; you may crush them, before the moth, and they will never rise to rebuke you; — their breath, which fails for lack of food, once expiring, will never be recalled 10 to whisper against you a word of accusing ; — they and you, as you think, shall lie down together in the dust, and the worms cover you ; and for them there shall be no consolation, and on you no ven- geance, — only the question murmured above your 15 grave: "Who shall repay him what he hath done.'" Is it therefore easier for you, in your heart, to inflict the sorrow for which there is no remedy .' Will you take, wantonly, this little all of his life from your poor brother, and make his brief hours long to him 20 with pain .' Will you be more prompt to the injus- tice which can never be redressed ; and more nig- gardly of the mercy which you can bestow but once, and which, refusing, you refuse for ever .' XVI. I think better of you, even of the most 25 selfish, than that you would act thus, well under- standing your act. And for yourselves, it seems to me, the question becomes not less grave when brought into these curt limits. If your life were but a fever fit, — the madness of a night, whose 30 \yo John Ruskin follies were all to be forgotten in the dawn, it might matter little how you fretted away the sickly hours, — what toys you snatched at or let fall, — what visions you followed, wistfully, with the s deceived eyes of sleepless phrenzy. Is the earth only an hospital ? are health and heaven to come ? Then play, if you care to play, on the floor of the hospital dens. Knit its straw into what crowns please you ; gather the dust of it for treasure, and lo die rich in that, though clutching at the black motes in the air with your dying hands ; — and yet, it may be well with you. But if this life be no dream, and the world no hospital, but your palace-inheritance ; — if all the peace and power and IS joy you can ever win, must be won now, and all fruit of victory gathered here, or never ; — will you still, throughout the puny totality of your life, weary yourselves in the fire for vanity 1 If there is no rest which remaineth for you, is there none 20 you might presently take } was this grass of the earth made green for your shroud only, not for your bed .' and can you never lie down upon it, but only under it .' The heathen, in their saddest hours, thought not so. They knew that life brought its as contest, but they expected from it also the crown of all contest : No proud one ! no jewelled circlet flaming through Heaven above the height of the unmerited throne ; only some few leaves of wild olive, cool to the tired brow, through a few years 30 of peace. It should have been of gold, they The Crown of Wild Olive 171 thought; but Jupiter was poor; this was the best the god could give them. Seeking a better than this, they had known it a mockery. Not in war, not in wealth, not in tyranny, was there any happi- ness to be found for them — only in kindly peace, s fruitful and free. The wreath was to be of wild olive, mark you: — the tree that grows carelessly, tufting the rocks with no vivid bloom, no verdure of branch ; only with soft snow of blossom, and scarcely fulfilled fruit, mixed with grey leaf and 10 thorn-set stem ; no fastening of diadem for you but with such sharp embroidery ! But this, such as it is, you may win, while yet you live ; type of grey honour, and sweef rest.* Free-heartedness, and gra- ciousness, and undisturbed trust, and requited love, is and the sight of the peace of others, and the min- istry to their pain ; these, — and the blue sky above you, and the sweet waters and flowers of the earth .beneath; and mysteries and presences, innumerable, of living things, — may yet be here your riches; 20 untormenting and divine : serviceable for the life that now is ; nor, it may be, without promise of that which is to come. VII Born i8oi. Died 1890 , WHAT IS A UNIVERSITY? [The present selection is Chapter II. of the Rise and Progress of Universities. The work appeared in 1854 in the Catholic University Gazette of Dublin, and was issued in book form in 1856. The present title was given it in 1872. Newman wrote the articles with the founding of a Roman Catholic University at Dublin in prospect, and in them, as in The Idea of a University, he has set forth his ideas as to what the ideal of a university should be. The present chapter, which follows a short intro- ductory chapter and precedes the famous chapter on The Site of a University, is really the introduction to the subject. The chapter is reprinted from Volume III. of Newman's His- torical Sketches, through the kindness of Messrs. Longmans, Green, and Company, of London and New York.] I. If I were asked to describe as briefly and popu- larly as I could, what a University was, I should draw my answer from its ancient designation of a Studium Generale, or " School of Universal Learn- s ing." This description implies the assemblage of strangers from all parts in one spot ; — from all parts ; else, how will you find professors and students for every department of knowledge } and in one spot ; else, how can there be any school at all .' Accord- 10 ingly, in its simple and rudimental form, it is a school 172 WAat is a University? 173 of knowledge of every kind, consisting of teachers and learners from every quarter. Many things are requisite to complete and satisfy the idea embodied in this description ; but such as this a University seems to be in its essence, a place for the communi- s cation and circulation of thought, by means of per- sonal intercourse, through a wide extent of country. II. There : nothing far-fetched or unreasonable in the idea thus presented to us ; and if this be a University, then a University does but contemplate 10 a necessity of our nature, and is but one specimen in a particular medium, out of many which might be adduced in others, of a provision for that necessity. Mutual education, in a large sense of the word, is one of the great and incessant occupations of human 15 society, carried on partly with set purpose, and partly not. One generation forms another ; and the exist- ing generation is ever acting and reacting upon itself in the persons of its individual members. Now, in this process, books, I need scarcely say, that is, the 2l litera scripta, are one special instrument. It is true ; and emphatically so in this age. Considering the prodigious powers of the press, and how they are developed at this time in the never-intermitting issue of periodicals, tracts, pamphlets, works in series, and 2; light literature, we must allow there never was a time which promised fairer for dispensing with every other means of information and instruction. What can we want more, you wilLsay, for the intellectual education of the whole man, and for every man, than 30 174 John Henry Newman so exuberant and diversified and persistent a pro- mulgation of all kinds of knowledge ? Why, you will ask, need we go up to knowledge, when knowl- edge comes down to us ? The Sibyl wrote her s prophecies upon the leaves of the forest, and wasted them ; but here such careless profusion might be prudently indulged, for it can be afforded without loss, in consequence of the almost fabulous fecundity of the instrument which these latter ages have in- lo vented. We have sermons in stones, and books in the running brooks ; works larger and more compre- hensive than those which have gained for ancients an immortality, issue forth every morning, and are projected onwards to the ends of the earth at the IS rate of hundreds of miles a day. Our seats are strewed, our pavements are powdered, with swarms of little tracts ; and the very bricks of our city walls preach wisdom, by informing us by their placards where we can at once cheaply purchase it. 20 III. I allow all this, and much more ; such cer- tainly is our popular education, and its effects are remarkable. Nevertheless, after all, even in this age, whenever men are really serious about getting what, in the language of trade, is called "a good 23 article," when they aim at something precise, some- thing refined, something really luminous, something really large, something choice, they go to another market ; they avail themselves, in some shape or other, of the rival method, the ancient method, of 30 oral instruction, of present communication between W/tat is a University f 175 man and man, of teachers instead of learning, of the personal influence of a master, and the humble initia- tion of a disciple, and, in consequence, of great centres of pilgrimage and throng, which such a method of education necessarily involves. This, I think, will s be found to hold good in all those departments or aspects of society which possess an interest suffi- cient to bind men together, or to constitute what is called "a world." It holds in the political world, and in the high world, and in the religious world ; 10 and it holds also in the literary and scientific world. IV. If the actions of men may be taken as any test of their convictions, then we have reason for saying this, viz. : — that the province and the ines- timable benefit of the liiera scripta is that of being 15 a record of truth, and an authority of appeal, and an instrument of teaching in the hands of a teacher ; but that, if we wish to become exact and fully fur- nished in any branch of knowledge which is diversi- fied and complicated, we must consult the living man 20 and listen to his living voice. I am not bound to investigate the cause of this, and anything I may say will, I am conscious, be short of its full analy- sis ; — perhaps we may suggest, that no books can get through the number of minute questions which 25 it is possible to ask on any extended subject, or can hit upon the very difficulties which are severally felt by each reader in succession. Or again, that no book can convey the special spirit and delicate peculiarities of its subject with that rapidity and 30 176 John Henry Newman certainty which attend on the sympathy of mind with mind, through the eyes, the look, the accent, and the manner, in casual expressions thrown off at the moment, and the unstudied turns of familiar s conversation. But I am already dwelling too long on what is but an incidental portion of my main subject. Whatever be the cause, the fact is unde- niable. The general principles of any study you may learn by books at home ; but the detail, the lo colour, the tone, the air, the life which makes it live in us, you must catch all these from those in whom it lives already. You must imitate the student in French or German, who is not content with his grammar, but goes to Paris or Dresden : you must IS take example from the young artist, who aspires to visit the great Masters in Florence and in Rome. Till we have discovered some intellectual daguerreo- type, which takes off the course of thought, and the form, lineaments, and features of truth, as com- 20 pletely and minutely, as the optical instrument repro- duces the sensible object, we must come to the teachers of wisdom to learn wisdom, we must repair to the fountain, and drink there. Portions of it may go from thence to the ends of the earth by means 25 of books ; but the fulness is in one place alone. It is in such assemblages and congregations of intellect that books themselves, the masterpieces of human genius, are written, or at least originated. V. The principle on which I have been insisting 30 is so obvious, and instances in point are so ready, What is a University? 177 that I should think it tiresome to proceed with the subject, except that one or two illustrations may serve to explain my own language about it, which may not have done justice to the doctrine which it has been intended to enforce. s VI. For instance, the polished manners and high- bred bearing which are so difficult of attainment, and so strictly personal when attained, — which are so much admired in society, from society are ac- quired. All that goes to constitute a gentleman, — 10 the carriage, gait, address, gestures, voice; the ease, the self-possession, the courtesy, the power of con- versing, the talent of not offending ; the lofty prin- ciple, the delicacy of thought, the happiness of expression, the taste and propriety, the generosity is and forbearance, the candour and consideration, the openness of hand;^ — these qualities, some of them come by nature, some of them may be found in any rank, some of them are a direct precept of Christi- anity ; but the full assemblage of them, bound up 20 in the unity of an individual character, do we expect they can be learned from books } are they not nec- essarily acquired, where they are to be found, in high society } The very nature of the case leads us to say so ; you cannot fence without an antago- 23 nist, nor challenge all comeirs in disputation before you have supported a thesis ; and in like manner, it stands to reason, you cannot learn to converse till you have the world to converse with ; you can- not' unlearn your natural bashfulness, or awkward- 30 178 John Henry Newman ness, or stiffness, or other besetting deformity, till you serve your time in some school of manners. Well, and is it not so in matter of fact? The metropolis, the court, the great houses of the land, s are the centres to which at stated times the country comes up, as to shrines of refinement and good taste ; and then in due time the country goes back again home, enriched with a portion of the social accomplishments, which those very visits serve to 10 call out and heighten in the gracious dispensers of them. We are unable to conceive how the " gentlemanlike " can otherwise be maintained ; and maintained in this way it is. VII. And now a second instance : and here too IS I am going to speak without personal experience of the subject I am introducing. I admit I have not been in Parliament, any more than I have figured in the beau monde ; yet I cannot but think that statesmanship, as well as high breeding, is ao learned, not by books, but in certain centres of education. If it be not presumption to say so. Parliament puts a clever man au courant with poli- tics and affairs of state in a way surprising to him- self. A member of the Legislature, if tolerably 2s observant, begins to see things with new eyes, even though his views undergo no change. Words have a meaning now, and ideas a reality, such as they had not before. He hears a vast deal in public speeches and private conversation, which is never put, 30 into print. The bearings of measures and events,. Wkat is a University? 179 the action of parties, and the persons of friends and enemies, are brought out to the man who is in the midst of them with a distinctness, which the most diligent perusal of newspapers will fail to impart to them. It is access to the fountain-heads s of political wisdom and experience, it is daily inter- course, of one kind or another, with the multitude who go up to them, it is familiarity with business, it is access to the contributions of fact and opinion thrown together by many witnesses from many 10 quarters, which does this for him. However, I need not account for a fact, to which it is suffi- cient to appeal ; that the Houses of Parliament and the atmosphere around them are a sort of Univer- sity of politics. IS Vni. As regards the world of science, we find a remarkable instance of the principle which I am illustrating, in the periodical meetings for its ad- vance, which have arisen in the course of the last , twenty years, such as the British Association. Such 20 gatherings would to many persons appear at first sight simply preposterous. Above all subjects of study. Science is conveyed, is propagated, by books, or by private teaching; experiments and investiga- tions are conducted in silence; discoveries are made 25 in solitude. What have philosophers to do with festive celebrities, and panegyrical solemnities with mathematical and physical truth.' Yet on a closer attention to the subject, it is found that not even scientific thought can dispense with the suggestions, 30 i8o John Henry Newman the instruction, the stimulus, the sympathy, the intercourse with mankind on a large scale, which such meetings secure. A fine time of year is chosen, when days are long, skies are bright, the s earth smiles, and all nature rejoices ; a city or town is taken by turns, of ancient name or modern opu- lence, where buildings are spacious and hospitality hearty. The novelty of place and circumstance, the excitement of strange, or the refreshment of well- lo known faces, the majesty of rank or of genius, the amiable charities of men pleased both with them- selves and with each other; the elevated spirits, the circulation of thought, the curiosity ; the morning sections, the outdoor exercise, the well-furnished, IS well-earned board, the not ungraceful hilarity, the evening circle; the brilliant lecture, the discussions or collisions or guesses of great men one with an- other, the narratives of scientific processes, of hopes, disappointments, conflicts, and successes, the splen- 20 did eulogistic orations ; these and the like constit- uents of the annual celebration, are considered to do something real and substantial for the advance of knowledge which can be done in no other way. Of course they can but be occasional ; they answer 25 to the annual Act, or Commencement, or Commem- oration of a University, not to its ordinary condition; but they are of a University nature ; and I can well believe in their utility. They issue in the promo- tion of a certain living and, as it were, bodily com- 30 munication of knowledge from one to another, of a What is a University? i8i general interchange of ideas, and a comparison and adjustment of science with science, of an enlarge- ment of mind, intellectual and social, of an ardent love of the particular study, which may be chosen by each individual, and a noble devotion to its in- 5 terests. IX. Such meetings, I repeat, are but periodical, and only partially represent the idea of a University. The bustle and whirl which are their usual con- comitants, are in ill keeping with the order and 10 gravity of earnest intellectual education. We desid- erate means of instruction which involve no inter- ruption of our ordinary habits ; nor need we seek it long, for the natural course of things brings it about, while we debate over it. In every great 15 country, the metropolis itself becomes a sort of necessary University, whether we will or no. As the chief city is the seat of the court, of high so- ciety, of politics, and of law, so as a matter of course is it the seat of letters also ; and at this time, for a 20 long term of years, London and Paris are in fact and in operation Universities, though in Paris its famous University is no more, and in London a University scarcely exists except as a board- of administration. The newspapers, magazines, reviews, journals, and 25 periodicals of all kinds, the publishing trade, the libraries, museums, and academies there found, the learned and scientific societies, necessarily invest it with the 'functions of a University ; and that atmos- phere of intellect, which in a former age hung over 30 1 82 John Henry Newman Oxford or Bologna or Salamanca, has, with- the change of times, moved away to the centre of civil government. Thither come up youths from all parts of the country, the students of law, medicine, and S the fine arts, and the employh and attaches of litera- ture. There they live, as chance determines; and they are satisfied with their temporary home, for they find in it all that was promised to them there. They have not come in vain, as far as their own 10 object in coming is concerned. They have not learned any particular religion, but they have learned their own particular profession well. They have, moreover, become acquainted with the habits, man- ners, and opinions of their place of sojourn, and IS done their part in maintaining the tradition of them. We cannot then be without virtual Universities ; a metropolis is such : the simple question is, whether the education sought and given should be based on principle, formed upon rule, directed to the highest 20 ends, or left to the random succession of masters and schools, one after another, with a melancholy waste of thought and an extreme hazard of truth. X. Religious teaching itself affords us an illus- tration of our subject to a certain point. It does 25 not indeed seat itself merely in centres of the world ; this is impossible from the nature of the case. It is intended for the many, not the few ; its subject matter is truth necessary for us, not truth recondite and rare; but, it concurs in the principle 30 of a University so far as this, that its great instru- What is a University f 183 ment, or rather organ, has ever been that which nature prescribes in all education, the personal pres- ence of a teacher, or, in theological language, Oral Tradition. It is the living voice, the breathing form, the expressive countenance, which preaches, which 5 catechises. Truth, a subtle, invisible, manifold spirit, is poured into the mind of the scholar by his eyes and ears, through his affections, imagination, and reason ; it is poured into his mind and is sealed up there in perpetuity, by propounding and repeating 10 it, by questioning and requestioning, by correcting and explaining, by progressing and then recurring to first principles, by all those ways which are im- plied in the word "catechising." In the first ages, it was a work of long time ; months, sometimes 15 years, were devoted to the arduous task of disabus- ing the mind of the incipient Christian of its pagan errors, and of moulding it upon the Christian faith. The Scriptures indeed were at hand for the study of those who could avail themselves of them ; but 20 St. Irenseus does not hesitate to speak of whole races, who had been converted to Christianity, with- out being able to read them. To be unable to read or write was in those times no evidence of want of learning : the hermits of the deserts were, in this 25 sense of the word, illiterate ; yet the great St. An- thony, though he knew not letters, was a match in disputation for the learned philosophers who came to try him. Didymus again, the great Alexandrian theologian, was blind. The ancient discipline, called 30 184 John Henry Newman the Disciplina Arcani, involved the same principle. The more sacred doctrines of Revelation were not committed to books, but passed on by successive tradition. The teaching on the Blessed Trinity and s the Eucharist appears to have been so handed down for some hundred years ; and when at length re- duced to writing, it has filled many folios, yet has not been exhausted. XI. But I have said more than enough in illustra- 10 tion; I end as I began ; — a University is a place of concourse, whither students come from every quarter for every kind of knowledge. You cannot have the best of every kind everywhere ; you must go to some great city or emporium for it. There you have all IS the choicest productions of nature and art all to- gether, which you find each in its own separate place elsewhere. All the riches of the land, and of the earth, are carried up thither, there are the best markets, and there the best workmen. It is the 20 centre of trade, the supreme court of fashion, the umpire of rival talents, and the standard of things rare and precious. It is the place for seeing galleries of first-rate pictures, and for hearing wonderful voices and performers of transcendent skill. It is the place 2S for great preachers, great orators, great nobles, great statesmen. In the nature of things, greatness and unity go together ; excellence implies a centre. And such, for the third or fourth time, is a University ; I hope I do not weary out the reader by repeating 30 it. It is the place to which a thousand schools make Wkai is a University f 185 contributions ; in which the intellect may safely range and speculate, sure to find its equal in some antagonist activity, and its judge in the tribunal of truth. It is a place where inquiry is pushed forward, and discoveries verified and perfected, and rashness s rendered innocuous, and error exposed, by the colli- sion of mind with mind, and knowledge with knowl- edge. It is the place where the professor becomes eloquent, and is a missionary and a preacher, dis- playing his science in its most complete and most 10 winning form, pouring it forth with the zeal of enthu- siasm, and lighting up his own love of it in the breasts of his hearers. It is the place where the catechist makes good his ground as he goes, treading in the truth day by day into the ready memory, and is wedging and tightening it into the expanding reason. It is a place which wins the admiration of the young by its celebrity, kindles the affections of the middle- aged by its beauty, and rivets the fidelity of the old by its associations. It is a seat of wisdom, a light 20 of the world, a minister of the faith, an Alma Mater of the rising generation. It is this and a great deal more, and demands a somewhat better head and hand than mine to describe it well. XII. Such is a University in its idea and in its 25 purpose ; such in good measure has it before now been in fact. Shall it ever be again .' We are going forward in the strength of the Cross, under the patronage of the Blessed Virgin, in the name of St. Patrick, to attempt it. 3° NOTES NOTES ON THE STRUCTURE OF THE FOREGOING ESSAYS I. THE DEFEAT OF THE SPANISH ARMADA I. Object of the Essay. — Froude's account of the defeat of the Spanish Armada is introduced as an example of structure of a simple kind, — of structure in which the material is arranged in the order of time ; in other words, of direct narrative. II. Principles of Structure. — Before making a minute study of Froude's narrative, we shall do well to get some notion of what narration in theory is, and of the principles of structure on which the success of a narrative depends. A narrative may be generally defined as a series of events following one another ; that is, it deals with actual, or imaginary, occurrences. To put the case in other words, we may say (i) that in narration we have to do with par- ticular things, as, to take an example from the present narrative, with the Ark Raleigh, and (2) that we deal with these things not as they look but as they act ; we tell what they do or what is done to them. The essence of the narrative lies in this doing, which we term the action. This action cannot well go on by itself; hence we see the need, as was mentioned above, of things to act ; and these, to bor- row a term from the stage, we may call the actors. To the action and the actors we have to add a third element, — the place for the action to occur in ; hence, any good narrative will be found to contain names of places, dates, and even descriptive passages, which go to make up the setting. All three elements together make what we usually call the " events." It is clear that these events in themselves, or a number of these events, will not necessarily make interesting narrative ; they may 189 igo Notes have nothing to do with one another, or they may not be worth telling. So certain principles must be observed (i) in the selection of events and (2) in the arrangement of them. In any good nar- rative, such as Macaulay's History of England, these principles will be found observed. What they are in any given case will depend on the immediate purpose of the writer, — whether it is to sketch the history of an epoch, to tell the happenings of a day in a news- column, to depict the life of a man, to amuse the reader by a clever bit of fiction. Setting aside all but narrative dealing with history, we may say that the most important principles in the selection of material are these : 1. The selection of a definite objective point to which all the events shall tend. In the present case, the object which Froude had in mind was the relating of the course of events by which the Spanish Armada was sent out from Spain and ultimately defeated by the English, at sea, in the year 1588. The material is chosen with the culminating point in view, and consists of a series of par- ticular events. 2. The selection of such material only as leads up to this objec- tive point, and, of all the events, of those only which are of impor- tance. Thus, in the present narrative, we are told little of what was going on in England, Spain, and Flanders, and nothing of what was going on in other countries ; and when any events other than those relating to the defeat of the Armada at sea are given, they are introduced to make clearer or more interesting or more complete the happenings at sea. Moreover, all the events at sea cannot be brought in ; the small actions, such as the killing of individual sail- ors, must be omitted, or at most introduced only to illustrate the more important part of the general action. In regard to the arrangement or structure of a good historical narrative the following principles should be noted : I. Progression of the narrative. — Since the narrative is dealing with events which have, as in the present instance, actually taken place, these events have occurred in the order of time ; hence the events of the narrative must, so far as possible, follow one another in this order. But, to make the succession of events clearer and more coherent, one event should, so far as may be, follow another of which it is the result ; in other words, the order of cause and effect must be followed. This order can be observed in Froude's The Defeat of the Spanish Armada igi narrative, as in paragraphs L. and LI., where the sharp policy of the Queen drives the admirals to deliberate with regard to the most effective means of driving the Spanish from Calais Roads, the result of which is the sending of fire-ships against the Armada. Here the time-order and the order of cause and effect go side by side. To the novelist's methods of heightening effect, climax, dialogue, and the like, the historian, as a dealer in truth, cannot often resort. In any case, however, the effect may be enlivened by the choice of words and by the management of sentences ; in other words, by style. 2. Emphasis of the narrative. — Significant events, as we have seen in discussing the selection of material, are dwelt upon at greater length than less important things. In the arrangement of the mate- rial, these chief events, while following the order of time, may be made to occupy the more prominent positions. So, too, new mate- rial may be brought in whenever it is needed to give increased inter- est to the action. Such is the case in the present narrative, e.g., in paragraphs XLIV.-XLVII. There the digression to the condition of the Spanish on shore serves to make the state of the Spanish on sea clearer, as well as to heighten, by the suspense, the effect of the coming battle. Under the same principle falls the placing of the paragraphs dealing with the condition of the English directly after those dealing with the condition of the Spanish, — a device which makes each group stand out more distinctly. It is necessary to add, however, that this shifting of scene should not take place with such rapidity as to confuse the reader with regard to the point of view from which the story is told. Such confusion perhaps exists in paragraph XXVI. In addition to these general principles of selection and arrange- ment, it is well for a student to note the personal point of view, so to speak, from which Froude is writing. It is that oi an English- man who looks back with pride to an English victory, and is plainly to be seen in the tone which he adopts. He constantly conveys to the reader the impression of the hopelessness of the Spanish expe- dition ; all the outward magnificence and apparent might merely add to the English triumph. III. Plan of the Narrative. — The plan of the narrative may be illustrated by the following scheme, which attempts to give in parallel columns, and paragraph by paragraph, the principal ele- 192 Notes ments — the action, the actors, the time and place — as they appear in the narrative. The first column indicates the main divisions of the narrative, based on the changes in the point of view ; that is, the diflferent episodes. These stand for the action. The second coluhin and the third represent the two classes of actors, and show how the action is carried on, now by the Spanish, now by the English. The fourth column shows the chronological and geo- graphical course of the narrative. The Roman numerals refer to the paragraphs as numbered in the text. Main Divisions. The Spanish. The English. The Time and Place. A. Preparation I. Nations and Spring of 1588. of the Armada. people represented in the expedition. Spain. II. The fleet — [Meanwhile, as the galleons. is stated in the III. The fleet — the galleasses, mer- chant-ships, and caravels. IV. Strength of preceding part of the chapter, the English have been making their prepara- tions with much the armament. embarrassment.] V. The supplies. sailors, soldiers, and supernumeraries. VI. The officers. VII. The defi- ciencies ; prepara- tions in Flanders. VIII. The relig- ious purpose of the Armada. IX. -XI. The April 28-May 8, proclamation of 1588. the Cardinal-elect against Elizabeth. The Defeat of the Spanish Armada 193 Main Divisions. The Spanish. The English. The Time and Place. B. The voyage. XII. The Arma- da sets sail, reaches Ferrol, May 19-29. XIII. And again July ia-22. sets sail. Ferrol. XIV. The pa- geant. XV. The quality of the fleet. XVI. The Ar- July 15-25. Off mada proceeds on Ushant. ' the voyage. XVII. Encoun- July 20-30. Off ters a storm, and the Lizard. sights England. C. The alarm XVIII. The July 19-29. in England. English first sight the Armada. XIX. Condi- tion of the fleet. XX. The prep- arations on land. D. The first XXI. The Eng- encounter. lish fleet cleared for action. XXI I. The Eng- July 20-30. Off lish see the Arma- Plymouth. da approaching. XXIII. The Ar- mada lies to for the night. XXIV. And the Spanish see the English approach them. XXV. The Span- July 21-31. ish attempt to close. but are out-sailed. 194 Notes The Time and Main Divisions. The Spanish. The English. Place. XXVI. They are out-manoeuvred, XXVII. And are unable to return the English fire effec- tively. XXVIII. They fight bravely, but are worsted. XXIX. The English hang on the Spanish till nightfall. XXX.-XXXI. OffTorbay. The Capitana is captured by Drake. XXXII. Oquen- do's galley is blown up. XXXIII. The gain to the Eng- Ush. E. The fight of XXXIV. Help- the unfavourable July22-Augusti, the second and less condition of position of the Off Portland. third days. (The the Spanish, and English. second encounter.) XXXV. They at- tack the English and become some- what scattered. XXXVI. The English isolate the San Marcos, but are obliged to haul off. XXXVII. En- thusiasm in Eng- land. The fleet July33-August2. is increased. The Defeat of the Spanish Armada 195 Main Divisions. The Spanish. The English. The Time and Place. G. The fight of XXXVIII. The and the English July24-August3. the fourth day. galleasses attack receive more am- Near the Isle of (The third en- the English with munition. Wight. counter.) little effect, /^. The first gen- XXXIX. The July25-August4. eral engagement. English attack the Off the Isle of Spanish in force. Wight. XL. The Span- ish suffer severely. XLI. Sidonia writes to Parma. /. The move- XLI I. The Span- and the English July26-Augusts. ments of the two ish sail up the put in for sup- fleets. Channel, plies. XLIII. The and the English July27-August6. . Spanish bring up anchornearthem. In the Straits of in Calais Roads, Dover. XLIV. Sidonia communicates with the French, XLV. And again sends to Parma. XLVI. Parma's embarrassed posi- tion. XLVII. He promises to give what help he can. XLVIII. Uneasi- ness of Sidonia. XLIX. The July28-August7. grave case of the Off Calais. English fleet. L. The admi- rals hold a coun- cil of war, 196 Notes The Time and Main Divisions. The Spanish. The English. Place. LI. And de- termine to drive the Spanish from Calais Roads by fire-ships. LI I. The Span- ish, in alarm, slip their cables, and stand out to sea. LIII. Howard July29-August8. follows and cap- Morning. Off tures a galleass. Calais. LIV. But is driven off by the French. y. Second gen- LV. Seymour Morning. Off eral engagement. sets upon the wing of the Span- ish. LVI. Drake attacks Sidonia. Gravelines. LVI I. Howard Noon. Off comes up. They Gravelines. sink many Span- ish vessels. IV. Questions on the Structure of the Essay. — Assuming the foregoing table to represent in a general way the structure of the essay, we have still to ask ourselves several questions on the details of structure, especially with reference (i) to the method by which the narrative moves forward, (2) to the ways in which new material is introduced, and (3) to the binding together of the whole into a coherent unit. (In the references to the text the num- bers stand for the page, the paragraph, and the line.) 2, I. I, 2. The opening sentence marks the transition in the narrative. What is the value of each adjective in looking back to The Defeat of the Spanish Armada 197 a preceding paragraph? How does the sentence prepare the way for the discussion of the preparations at Lisbon ? — 1, 2-4. How many paragraphs does the second sentence introduce? 3, n. 1-4. The first sentence of the paragraph clearly looks back to the preceding paragraph ; how does it introduce the present paragraph, if at all? — 3, 5-7. Froude here follows the order of time, though he is dealing throughout these opening paragraphs with explanation of a descriptive sort. The sentence in question has really a narrative structure ; the equipment of the galleons, the laying in of the stores, the embarkation of the crews, — these are ar- ranged in the order in which they would naturally have taken place. — 3, 8, 9. In view of the preceding sentence, should you say that this sentence also is of narrative structure ? Does the paragraph, as a whole, seem to have unity {cf. Rhetoric, pp. 154-156) in the selec- tion of facts ? 4, IV. 22-25. Does the sentence really belong to VII.? Com- pare the sentence (7, 8, 9) : " The short supply of cannon-cartridge was one serious deficiency." 5, V. 3. Does the paragraph emphasis (cf. Rhetoric, pp. 156- 160) seem to you good? To how much of the paragraph is this opening sentence an introduction? — 5, 12. Does not much of the paragraph, and especially the sentence beginning " Of soldiers," properly belong in I.? If not, explain, on the principle of para- graph-unity, its right to stand here. 6, VI. 1-5. What does the sentence imply regarding the con- tents of the paragraph? Does the unity of the paragraph seem to be better than that of the preceding paragraphs? Looking at the narrative as a whole, can you see any reason for this catalogue of the officers in one paragraph rather than the sprinkling of their names, with some account of their lives, throughout the narrative, as occasion requires ? (Cy. XXVIII.) 7, Vll. 8. This paragraph (with the four following) is virtually a summing up of the position of the Spanish before the sailing of the Armada. {Cf. the opening sentence of XII.) It lays chief stress on the few points of weakness which led to the defeat of the Spanish. The last part of the paragraph (8, 8), by giving us the situation of the Spanish in Holland, prepares the way for a more speedy narration of the battle in the Channel than would otherwise be possible : once knowing how Parma is placed, we are not obliged 198 Notes to halt in the heat of the battle in order to find out who Parma is, where he was, and what he was doing. {Cf. XVI., XXXIV., XLI., XLV., XLVII.)— 8, 22 — 9,7. How do you account for the fact that the operations of the Outch do not receive the full and vivid treatment at this point that the doings of the English receive later on, especially since the Dutch are hardly mentioned again ? 9, VIII. 8—13, XI. 23. Do these four paragraphs, which tran- scribe the proclamation of the Cardinal-elect, seem to you to add anything to the unity of the whole narrative? {Cf. Rhetoric, 177, 178, and notes on the present extract, II. 2, p. 190.) Do they justify their existence by showing in a striking and vivid way the feeling of the Spanish toward the English? {Cf. 2, 17.) 14, XII. 1-7. Does the sentence mark a new division of the sub- ject ? Explain in detail how it sums up what has gone before. Is what follows more truly narrative than what precedes, i.e., do the events follow each other more strictly in the order of time? The present paragraph is fairly typical of Froude, and may be analyzed in some detail to serve as a model. The main part of the first sentence, " The Duke of Medina Sidonia sailed from Lisbon on the I9th-29th of May," states an event of a rather general sort, is a narrative statement. The two following sentences, " The northerly breeze which prevails on the coast of Portugal was unusually strong," and "The galleons standing high out of the water, and carrying small canvas in proportion to their size, worked badly to windward," give the causes leading to the result, " They were three weeks in reaching Finisterre." A new cause then comes into play, " The wind having freshened to a gale," and leads to a further result, also stated as an event, " They were scattered, some standing out to sea, some into the Bay of Biscay." The progression of the rest is of the same sort, a narrative of cause producing effect, the whole usually arranged in the order of time. The whole is very general, however ; Froude does not take us into the details of the voyage, but contents himself with summing up the significant facts of the voyage, as in the fol- lowing sentences : " The officers, however, were, on the whole, well satisfied with the qualities which the ships had displayed. A mast or two had been sprung, a few yards and bowsprits had been carried away ; but beyond loss of time there had been no serious damage." In the fight itself, Froude naturally goes more deeply into details, but the same sort of structure and method is to be frequently noted. The Defeat of the Spanish Armada 199 15, XIII. I. A paragraph of plain narrative. 15, XIV. 6. One of the few descriptive paragraphs in the entire chapter. Its purpose is obviously to heighten the dramatic effect of the narrative, and this purpose is clearly shown in the two last sen- tences. Can you account for XV. on similar grounds ? 16, XV. 16-20. Do not the two sentences seem to be apart from the main idea of the paragraph ? Should they not rather be made a part of XVI.? 16, XVI. 21. Compare the structure with that of XII. 17, XVII. 3. What should you say with regard to the coherence {cf. Rhetoric, pp. 161-164) of the paragraph? For example, does the sixth sentence (17, 12-14) make matters clearer, or aid in the development of the thought? Has the paragraph complete unity? 18, XVIII. 12. The paragraph is purely one of transition, and seems to change the point of view from the Spanish to the English. Note the method : the first sentence refers, in subject, to the pre- ceding paragraph, but states the subject from a new point of view ; the second explains the last clause of the first, and leads directly to the following group of paragraphs. Note that the time goes back a day to bring up the English even, so to speak, with the Spanish, at their meeting, as narrated in XXIII. — Do you see any reason for bringing in the English at this point? Why not keep the Spanish point of view throughout? 18, XIX. 18. Do you note any narrative of events in the para- graph (cf. XXI.), or does it serve a purpose like that of I. -XL? If the latter, why is the passage not so long as the passage referred to? {Cf. the opening sentence of I., and scheme, p. 192, opposite I.-XI.) 19, XX. 3. Could the paragraph have been omitted {cf. VI I I.- XI.) as irrelevant to the subject? Do you see any object in the digression about Leicester (9-16)? What change would the omis- sion of the paragraph necessitate in the wording of the opening sentence of XXL? — 19, 3, 4. Compare the function of the intro- ductory sentence with that of XIX. 20, XXI. I. The manner of treatment should be compared with that of XIX. 20, XXII. 13. The narrative method of this bit of description should be noted. The paragraph is developed from the point of view of the English ; that is, we are given the facts as they 200 Notes appear to the sight of the English. Observe the coherent order of events : the lookouts first see the sails at either wing ; then the sails at the centre rise into view; but it is not until the hulls become plainly visible that the count of numbers is made. 21, XXIII. II. From what point of view is the narration made, the Spanish or the English ? How do you account for the fact that the opening sentence is not connected with the remainder of the paragraph ? Should the paragraph have been divided differ- ently ? — 21, 14-17. How does the sentence connect the paragraph with XVII. and XVIII.? 21, XXIV. 25. Note that the very short paragraph deals with an event aside from the main trend, and that, on the whole, the scene is treated with greater minuteness than is usual in the chapter. Had the whole story been done in this proportion, it would have been several times as long. The paragraph could readily be stricken out ; but does it not seem to add to the dramatic force of the first meet- ing of the English with the Spanish ? 22, XXV. I. The two opening sentences of the paragraph are almost wholly narrative. Note that the remainder of the para- graph (4-14) deals entirely with the general effect of the English method of fighting and is really descriptive. {Cf. XII .) Distinguish in the four following paragraphs strict narrative from other kinds of writing. Do these changes from direct specific narrative to general effects seem to you (i) to relieve the tension which the relating of a number of particular things would result in, or (2) do they enable Froude to say in a few words what as simple narrative would have required much detail? 23, XXVII. 2-6. How does this bit of detail help on the more general facts of the narrative which precede ? For arrangement compare this paragraph with XXV. Do you think that better paragraph-unity would have been secured by putting general con- siderations in one paragraph and particular things in another ? 23, XXVIII. 7, 8. Does the sentence properly emphasize the para- graph? Should it not have been placed at the close of XXVII.? 24, XXXI. 20— 27, XXXII. s- Had the preceding paragraphs been treated with the same detail and in the manner of these two, they would obviously have taken much more space. Does this fact throw any light on Froude's method of selecting and bringing out material? The Defeat of the Spanish Armada 201 27, XXXIII. 6. Has the paragraph unity ? 27, XXXIV. II. Note that the main idea of the paragraph is the letter of Sidonia to Parma. This is introduced by the opening four sentences. Is the situation, however, as explained in these four sentences necessary to the main idea of the paragraph ? Com- pare the situation in the following paragraph. To put the matter differently, would the narrative have been equally clear without them ? 28, XXXVI. 24. Note how, as in many cases, Froude prefaces a particular bit of narrative with a general observation. 29, XXXVII. 19-21. Note how the capture and the conveying of the Venetian vessel to Weymouth open thg way for a digression. Does this add to the interest or bring in new actors? Compare the closing sentence of the paragraph (30, 29) . 31, XXXVIII. 15-21. In the sentence the time-order and the sequence of events are not kept together. Some confusion results : Sir George Carey presumably saw the shot " flying thick as musket- balls " in the general engagement which, as we are told in the closing sentence of the paragraph, Howard determined to try on Thursday. 32, XXXIX. 4—34, XLI. 19. Note how in these three para- graphs the narrative of the battle is presented (i) by a specific account of the encounter between the Ark Raleigh and Oquendo, (2) by a general statement of the results of the fight, and (3) by the letter of Sidonia to Parma describing his condition. 34, XLI I. 20-22. Note that the time and the condition of the weather are constantly pressed upon the reader's mind. Compare 35, 11-14. Do these references make the situation clearer? 36, XLIV. 5. The paragraph introduces a long digression, the object of which is to state the position of the Spanish on sea and on land. Note the purely transitional use of the paragraph. Does it seem also to prepare the situation of LI V. ? The structure of the digression, XLV.-XLVIII., should be borne in mind. The four paragraphs form a sort of loop : XLV. starts the circle by giving Sidonia's letter to Parma ; this allows a statement of Parma's position to be made in XLVI. ; and Parma's answer, in XLVII., opens the way to a statement, in XLVIII., of the exact position of the Spanish fleet at the same place and only a few hours after their anchoring. Can you see any reason for the digres- sion at this point? Does it (i) relieve the monotony of the sea- fight, or (2) add a new element of interest by showing the Spanish 202 Notes from a different point of view, or (3) prepare tiie way for a like digression with regard to the English, and thus depict the situation before the great sea-fight of Monday? On the whole, do the transi- tions from paragraph to paragraph seem easily made ? 39, XLIX. 4. Note that the paragraph forms a loop similar to that of the four preceding. It should be traced sentence by sentence. 40, L. 25. There is some similarity between the first half of this paragraph and XLVIII. Each describes the final position of the fleet ; the misfortune of the Spanish in losing their pilots, however, gives them no clue to finding an escape ; the hard case of the Eng- lish incites them to send fire-ships against the Armada and so pre- cipitates the great fight off Gravelines. Compare the last sentence of the paragraph. Is the unity of the paragraph preserved? It should be noted that the first two sentences of the paragraph are largely the result of conjecture on Fronde's part ; they heighten the effect rather than add to the truth of the narrative. The re- maining sentences are more like facts. 41, LI. 21. The situation of the paragraph and its connection with the preceding should be noted. The paragraph contains the specific working out of the general situation of the preceding. The connection of events may be designated as follows : since the English are in hard straits, they determine to do something ; and since the Spanish cannot be got at directly, the English determine to drive them where they can be got at ; to do this the only feasible method is the fire-ships ; these the English prepare, and, since the position of the Spanish is open to the attack and the wind favour- able, send them against the Spanish. The paragraph is good narrative both in order of time and in order of cause and effect. — 42, II, 12. Does the sentence make the situation clearer or more vivid ? 42, LII. 16. Note the transition as expressed in "thus." What advantage do you see in this change of the point of view ? Why should not the scene be described as it appeared to the English ? 43, LIII. 21 — 44, 2. The sentence should be analyzed in some detail to see just how it introduces the change in the point of view, and the different episodes which follow. Note how in the remain- der of the paragraph the elements of the situation, which lead to the capture of the galleass, are introduced. The Defeat of the Spanish Armada 203 45, LIV. 3. Note how, as is often the case, Froude uses a gen- eral statement of the situation preceding the particular events. Com- pare I. and also the structure of the entire selection. 46, LV. 5-9. The sentence contains a statement of the purpose which led the English to precipitate the great and final fight, as narrated in the closing paragraphs. Note the strongly emphasized steps of contrast by which this idea is introduced. The time of the paragraph and that of the following is obviously the same as in LIV. 46, LV. 9, 10. Does the sentence seem to help the situation ? Compare the statement with regard to the weather in the preceding paragraphs. Does the paragraph as a whole have unity of effect ? 47, LVI. 9. Note how the paragraph laps, so to speak, on the preceding. In LV. up to 46, 25, Drake and Seymour — though Drake had been the strategist — have been taken up together. The remainder of the paragraph then deals with Seymour's part in the battle. LVI. deals with Drake down to the last sentence, at which point the effect, presumably, of the attacks of both Drake and Seymour on the Spanish is given. The paragraphs may be repre- sented'thus : Paragraph LV. LVL Seymour ^^ ■ Drake ^^^^^^BIHIH ^^^^^^^^^^ 47, LVII. 22, 23. Does this sentence properly emphasize the paragraph ? In general, with what kind of matter does the para- graph deal and how does it tell the story ? — 48, 14-17. What does the sentence tell you with regard to the point of view of the para- graphs immediately to follow ? V. Summary. — The foregoing questions are naturally some- what scattering, and their results should accordingly be brought under several heads. This the student may be aided in doing by the following general questions : 1 . As regards the progress of the narrative, do the events seem to depend more on the order of time or on the relation of cause and effect ? {Cf. XVII., XXXI., and others.) Are the dates and places clearly indicated ? 2. As regards the handling of the situation, do you notice any prevailing tendency on the part of Froude to state carefully (i) the positions of the actors and (2) the other conditions before he 204 Notes begins the narrative of the fight? (Cy. XXXII.) Can you say the same of the structure as a whole ? How are new elements of the situation brought in ? (Cf. XXXVII.) Are any elements in the situation unnecessary to a complete setting in order of the mechanism of the narrative ? (Cf. XXXIX.) Are there any digressions which take the reader away from the chief actors, the English and Spanish sea-forces, and the main subject, the defeat of the Armada ? {Cf. XLIV.) 3. As regards the point of view, can you make any grouping of paragraphs ? {Cf. Plan, p. 192.) Does the point of view shift in any paragraphs ? {Cf. XXIII.) 4. With regard to the principles of composition {Rhetoric, Chap. X.), do you note any violations of unity, coherence, and emphasis in paragraphs? Are there many such ? Do you note a tendency to strongly marked transitions between paragraphs ? {Cf. XIV., XLIV., and others.) VI. General Suggestions. — A student will do well to examine other historical narratives to familiarize himself with simple struc- ture. Good specimens are Macaulay's account of the battle of Sedgemoor {History, Chap. V.), Parkman's narrative of the battle on the Plains of Abraham {Montcalm and Wolfe, Chap. XXVII.), Motley's chapter on the taking of Antwerp {The United Nether- lands, Chap. I.), and others. Battles generally furnish the best material ; but excellent matter for analysis can be found in histori- cal narratives of a less bellicose sort, not only in the authors already named, but in Gibbon, Prescott, Grote, Green, and others. Books like Grant's Memoirs furnish narrative of a simple, clear, straightforward kind. Less near truth than the last class and less simple, but still based on fact, are such pieces as De Quincey's The Spanish Military Nun and, better, The Revolt of the Tartars, or the appendix to Murder considered as one of the Fine Arts, in all of which there is much colouring. In fictitious narrative the variety of treatment is so various that the question need not here be elabo- rated. In general, a student will greatly aid his comprehension of the structure of any of these narratives, if (i) he observes the object the writer has in view, and (2) makes an analysis of the situation to see what facts are necessary to bring out the actors and events clearly and to give the narrative movement, and (3) notes the i;n?thod of connecting these events. Personal E'xperience and Review 205 II. PERSONAL EXPERIENCE AND REVIEW I. Object of the Selection. — The chapter from Stevenson rep- resents stmcture of a different scfrt from that of the story of the defeat of the Spanish Armada. It represents, so to speak, a simple and incomplete kind of thought-structure. In the former selection we were dealing with events as they follow one another in the order of time, in other words, with definite, actual occurrences, and the problem of structure was simply to arrange these in as nearly as possible the order of their occurrence. Here we find specific facts, but (i) they are not necessarily connected with one another in point of time, and (2) they are used to lead up, through the illus- tration which they give, to the more general observations and con- clusions of the author. The generalization, even though its worth be small, is, then, the important thing. In the present case the arrangement of ideas is simple enough : the chapter consists of a very few impressions ; it does not attempt to give a rounded and convincing view of the subject, or even to present one well-marked line of thought ; it merely singles out a few of the author's interest- ing thoughts. As such its charm depends, as we shall see later, on the style, on the way the thing is said, rather than on the structure, on the way the ideas are put together. II. General Principles of Structure. — Comparatively unimpor- tant as is structure in the large class of essays of which this stands as an example, we may lay down several general principles and ask ourselves several questions about the arrangement of the ideas. In the preceding selection we saw that the purpose of the author and his point of view were pretty carefully determined, and that he selected his facts to set forth that point of view. Here, where the author is left much freer to choose for himself, — since he is giving the results of his own observation, — we have still to ask ourselves what his purpose is and what his point of view is — if his facts really illustrate the points he makes, and if those facts are really worth making. And when, as in the present case, we have come to the conclusion that the purpose of the chapter is to give the cream of the observations and impressions from the host that crowd even a commonplace voyage, and that the point of view is that of an eager observer of his fellow-men, there still remain several questions in 206 Notes regard to the structure of the thought. Do these observations seem to be numerous, scattering, and haphazard, or are they few, carefully chosen toward one end, and part of a general scheme ? Are there groups of ideas ? Are there any useless facts and paragraphs ? Is there so much that one fails to get a unity of impression ? Does the author go from principles to facts or do his facts lead to his principles ? Questions of this sort should not be regarded as of great impor- tance ; and this idea cannot too constantly be borne in mind. To repeat again, Stevenson, as may be inferred from the vagueness of his title, is free to roam about as he pleases, and hence any undue subtlety of analysis would be entirely out of place. III. General Plan of the Chapter. — The following table gives, in purposely general language, the groups of fact and thought. It attempts to single out the main groups of thought, to subdivide these down to the paragraphs, and to indicate the connection of the whole essay with the title. The language of the topics is only approximate in the numbered paragraphs and also in the more general headings. This vagueness is unavoidable, since the paragraphs do not lend themselves to such a summary of propositions as is possible in the following essay ; indeed, such a method would, from the nature of the subject, be inappropriate. A. Introduction. ] B. The company's view of me. (Per- sonal experience.) That of the second cabin. That of the first cabin. That of the women. That of the officers. I. The twofold novelty of my situation. II. The different opinions about me of my mates. Illustrations. III. How I appeared to the cabin passengers in general. • IV. The regard in general of women for men of inferior station. V. Their regard for me on ■ board ship. Illustration. VI. The view the officers held of me and my writ- ing. VII. Their opinion of my method of sleeping. Personal Experience and Review 207 C. My view of the company. (Review.) The food. The people. My attitude toward them. My impressions of them. Their general charac- teristics. Their views of . society. Their laziness. Their talk. General impres- sion. VIII. Effect on me of the humble position and es- pecially of the food. IX. The pleasantness of my contact with the second- cabin people. X. Their gentleness of heart and illogicality of mind. - XI. Their one-sided view of social problems. XII. Their consequent helplessness. XIII. Their open confes- sion of idleness. XIV. Illustration of their organized idleness. XV. Reasons for their de- liberate idleness. XVI. Interesting but prof- itless character of their talk. XVII. The human side of I. their talk. XVIII. Why working peo- ple are interesting. IV. Questions on the Structure of the Chapter. — 49, 1, i. Note the antithesis of ideas in the paragraph. This carries out the idea in the phrase " two kinds." In the following paragraphs Stevenson roughly keeps this division. 49, II. 9. Note the structure of the paragraph. Starting (sen- tence i) with a general statement of Stevenson's new-found situation, it leads up gradually to the instances of the regard the passengers had for Stevenson, and closes with a generalization on their lack of acuteness. Do you notice any corresponding order in the structure of the whole chapter? (C/". /%?«, above.) 50,4-9. How does the sentence help the paragraph on ? 51, III. I, 2. How does the sentence indicate the relation of this 2o8 Notes paragraph to the preceding? Does it add anything to the definite- ness of subject of II.? 51, IV. 10. Show how the paragraph is connected with III. and V. Would the group of paragraphs {cf. Plan, p. 206) have gained clearness and force through an interchange in the order of IV. and V. ? Should this change be made, what necessity would arise for alteration in the emphasis (cf. Rhetoric, pp. 156-160) of the para- graphs ? 52, V. 5. The paragraph structure as a bit of method is worth noting. Sentence i states, so to speak, the proposition to be proved — that Stevenson was to the ladies of the cabin an "average man of the steerage." Sentence 2 leads to the manner of the demonstration, as expressed in sentences 3, 4, 5, 6, which succes- sively describe the actors — the woman, Stevenson, the crowd, the one of the crowd. Sentence 7 contains the point of the story, quod erat demonstrandum. Sentence 8 heightens the climax by describing the looks of the girl (and it will be noted that Stevenson does not observe the girl carefully until his attention is called to her) . With this last sentence the fourth should be compared as an example of management. 53, VIII. 27. "My new position." Has this reference to any part of I. ? — 53, 27-30. Do sentences i and 2 mark off a new divis- ion of thought, or merely introduce the paragraph? Note the nar- rowing down of the third sentence to the specific subject of the paragraph. 54, IX. 19. How much does the phrase "In other ways" intro- duce ? In general, does the paragraph seem to have continuity, or does it "scatter"? What is the chief idea of the paragraph, and how does it bear on the subject of the whole chapter? 56, X. 5. Is the paragraph structurally connected with the pre- ceding? Does the paragraph seem to have unity ? (Cf. Rhetoric, pp. 154-156.) If not, are the digressions worth anything? 58, XI. 6. From the point of view of paragraph structure, what do you notice about the precedence of general or specific ideas? Does Stevenson state a general principle and bring in specific illustrations and observations, or does he lead from specific facts to some generalization ? 59, XII. I. Howls the connection between this paragraph and XI. indicated? Personal Experience and Review 209 59, XIII. 10-12. Compare the transition with that between XI. and XII. The last sentence (60, 5-7) of XIII. is an interesting transition : the first member repeats the opening sentence (59, 10- 12) ; the last leads directly to the next paragraph. 60, XIV. 8-15. The paragraph is strictly narrative up to the word " explanation." It then becomes an exposition of the tapper's trade. For an example of such excellent method compare V. 61, XV. 6. Do you note any changes of subject in the paragraph ? If so, do they weaken the structure ? 61, XVI. 24. The method of transition by which Stevenson marks off the larger groups of thought should be noted. 63, XVIII. 6. Does the closing paragraph seem to you to be in direct line with XVII., or does it sum up the whole section (VIII.- XVIII.), or the whole chapter? V. Summary. — Personal Experience and Review, then, seems to be suggestive rather than structural. Giving a few groups of ideas, it attempts to arouse one's interest by its pleasant handling of ideas rather than to appeal to one's intelligence. It is a good ex- ample of what an active mind can do with a few simple facts, and it is hardly more, nor does it make pretence of depth or power. Cer- tainly there is not a wide variety in structural forms, such as would be indicated in paragraphs and groups of paragraphs. It leaves the impression that more might have been said, but that enough has been said for the purposes of the chapter — to sum up a few impres- sions of a commonplace event. VI. General Suggestions. — Many of Stevenson's essays and books have a like fragmentary structure, and are full of this incom- plete, suggestive generalization. A student should turn to the less narrative parts of Across the Plains and Travels with a Donkey for examples of the same kind. In Virginibus Puerisque and Mem- ories and Portraits there is to be foun^ a class of essays, which, while presenting certain lines of thought, are directed not so much to one's intellect as to one's feeling, and which are less valuable as structure than for suggestiveness of style. The student should also glance at other essays of the same general sort, such as those of the school of Lamb and Hazlitt, if for no other purpose at least to see how some structure may benefit the presentation of thought and prevent it from being wholly scattering and elusive. p 2IO Notes III. MACAULAY I. Object of the Essay. — The essay on Macaulay is presented as an example of review-writing of a high grade. Structurally, it is more difficult than the one immediately preceding in that it attempts to present opinions, not in groups, but in definite lines of thought leading up to one end. II. Principles of Structure. — In addition to certain fundamental principles of selection and arrangement, such as we have seen in selections I. and II., there are other points to be noted with more exactness in this essay, and in essays which, like this, attempt to present lines of thought, than in the foregoing essays. In 'the present selection they are essential to a proper understanding of the structure, and are as follows : 1. The exact purpose of the essay. This is found in the open- ing paragraph ^ — to weigh the value and significance of Macaulay's ideas and briefly to sum up his place in English letters in anticipa- tion of the appearance of Trevelyan's Life. As Mr. Morley says, some notion of what a reader should expect of the book he is about to read is of great value in defining his ideas and sharpening his critical appreciation. 2. The place and the public. The purpose is further con- ditioned by the character of the audience and by the means of communication. It should be noted that the essay was written for the Fortnightly Review, which, like all good periodicals, other than those devoted to special subjects, aims to give popular and general rather than minutely technical and learned judgments. Reviews of this sort, however high their aim and excellent their tone, are often called upon to "produce literary graces and philosophical decorations at an hour's notice." 3. The point of view of the author. The reader should bear in mind that Mr. Morley, as will readily be inferred from the closing paragraph of the essay, belongs to that very age whose problems he laments Macaulay's failure to foresee ; and this advantage he shares with such severe critics of Macaulay as Mr. Leslie Stephen (Macaulay: Hours in a Library, Series II.) and Mr. J. Cotter Morison {Macaulay: English Men of Letters). The critical stand- ards of the two generations are different ; the present demands more Macaulay 2 1 1 analysis and exposition than the generation of Macaulay. The point of view of the author is a consideration always to be made ; it is very obvious in Froude and Stevenson, but in the selections from those two authors it is of less importance : Froude is ob- viously writing as a Protestant Englishman, and Stevenson is deal- ing with himself; Mr. Morley, on the other hand, is confessedly in the position of an impartial judge. III. Plan of the Essay. — How the line of thought is developed may be seen in the following plans : A. The topic form (Mr. Morley's own abstract of the essay from the table of contents, Critical Miscellanies, Vol. I.) is the simplest : The Life of Macaulay. Not meditative. Macaulay's vast popularity. Macaulay's is the prose of spoken de- He and Mill, the two masters of the liverance. modem journalist. Character of his geniality. His marked quality. Metallic hardness and brightness. Set his stamp on style. Compared with Carlyle. His genius for narration. Harsh modulations and shallow ca- His copiousness of illustration. dences. Macaulay's, the style of literary knowl- Compared with Burke. edge. Or with Southey. His use of generous commonplace. Faults of intellectual conscience. Perfect accord with his audience. Vulgarity of thought. Dislike of analysis. Conclusion. The foregoing plan indicates only to a very limited degree the structure of the essay. The topics stand by themselves and do not fall into groups. Consequently, the summary is useful as a table of contents ; it names a few ideas in the essay, but does not show their connection with each other. In general, such a table is more useful to a writer or a speaker than to a reader, since it furnishes the former with an outline of thoughts already in mind ; to the latter it may or may not stand for anything. What the line of thought is, the following analysis shows more clearly. B. Paragraph summary of the essay : I. It is well, before we enter into an examination of the Ltfeoi Macaulay, to determine for ourselves what kind of significance or value belongs to his work. II. Macaulay is among the first few English writers in popularity. 212 Notes III. It is important to distinguish the causes which have given Macaulay this popularity. IV. To Macaulay modern journalists owe most of their faults, as to Mill most of their virtues. V. Macaulay's own quality was far from that of the men who imitated him and was the source of his strength, as was imitation of that quality the source of their weakness. VI. It is the task of criticism to sum up both a writer's merits and defects ; and the analysis shows that Macaulay contributed no new ideas to our stock, but set his stamp most fixedly on style. VII. He who touches style deeply acquires an influence over the methods of thought of a generation. VIII. The first secret of Macaulay's popularity was his genius for narration — this always of a wholesome kind. IX. He had the quality of telling a story in a very straightforward and unmistakable way. X. He had something to say about nearly all the important people and events in history. XI. He gave the awakening middle class of England the kind of information it wanted — on historical, literary, and philosophical themes. XII. The great literary knowledge displayed in Macaulay's style and the spontaneity of its allusions are marvellous, and make it very difficult of imitation. XIII. Macaulay's great popularity lay in the fact that he dealt chiefly with the Commonplace. XIV. He dealt bountifully with the fine Commonplaces of freedom and love of country. XV. He was in exact accord with the feeling of his time ; he had few ideas and these he was sure of. XVI. He failed to deal with the larger and more suggestive Commonplace which would have stimulated the reflective reader. XVII. He had not the power of thinking abstractly, and of medi- tating on unseen truth. XVIII. These qualities are found in his prose style — which always says something, and that clearly. XIX. His prose has the style of spoken deliverance. XX. His prose style, though clear and direct, is too self-confident, and is without benignity. Macdulay 213 XXI. His style is too trenchant for fine gradations of tliought. XXII. His humour is laboured rather than elastic. XXIII. His style is hard, bright, glaring, often trivial in its details, and is too often made to order. XXIV. There was in him no tumult to repress, no reserve of spirit ; to him life was a plain affair. XXV. A comparison between him and the genuine masters of English prose shows how this lack of reserve deprived his style of deeper charm. XXVI. A comparison between him and one of his contemporaries, Southey, shows how poor is the sound of his prose. XXVII. He pursued effect so hotly that he often became vulgar, coarse, rude, even mean and ignoble. XXVIII. The same pursuit made him unscientific and untrue. XXIX. To sum up, Macaulay was wanting in that he failed to do more than invest passing fact with an unreal glory, and in that he suggested no problem for the future. The foregoing paragraph summary, as has been said, shows the main idea of each paragraph devoid of its ornament and emphasis, and it points out the line of thought in a general way. On the other hand, it shows neither the structural relation that the ideas bear to one another, nor the proportions of the ideas. These two points are brought out in the following plan. C. Skeleton of the Essay : — [Note. The so-called skeleton which follows attempts, so far as possible, to keep the headings of the par- agraph summary. Hence only the main ideas are presented, and all details and illustrations which go to support the conclusion are omitted, unless they are too important — as is the case in the last five paragraphs — to be suppressed. The process of treatment here adopted is twofold: (i) An expanding and a subdividing in the paragraphs which contain the chief propositions of the foregoing scheme ; and (2) a setting in of the other paragraphs until each has its proper subordination. The attempt has further been made in this brief to 'keep the tone of argument or of exposition as either is the more marked in the text. Thus in paragraphs I.-VII., Mr. Morley is careful to support his steps as he goes along, while in paragraphs VIII.-XII. he does little more than to state conclusions. Hence, in the former set of paragraphs the headings are stated as propositions, in the latter as topics ; and the same method has been used through- 214 Notes out. In paragraph XXIX. the subdivision is comparatively more exhaustive. Section G is placed in braclcets since it is introduced, arbitrarily, to indicate more clearly the structure.] [I.] A. It is a useful practice for any one before reading a new book to jot down his previous ideas on the subject. B. Such practice can be carried on with special profit in regard to Macaulay. I. His work can now be examined in a disinter- ested spirit. [II.] II. He was an author of great popularity. [III.] III. He left a decided mark on the thought and expression of every person of his time. IV. His influence on journalism was especially strong. [IV.] I. To him modern journalists owe almost all their vices (as to Mill their virtues), [v.] a. What in him was a source of strength and just power, became mere imitation and weakness in his followers. [VI.] C. In this examination Macaulay's work must be summed up very carefully and impartially, with- out cavil or carping. I. His influence has, in an age of reading, been a distinct literary force on the quality of men's thought. II. His influence on style as a representation of thought has been tremendous. [VII.] D. The question of style is very important. I. In general, new turns of expression may stand for new thoughts. II. He who influences the style of a generation often directs the manner of thinking as well. [VIII.] E. The points of excellence in Macaulay's work are these : I. He had a genius for narration, for telling a tale, a power always attractive to most meii. I. He had a remarkable grasp of action, move- ment, and objective fact. Macaulay 215 [IX.] 2. He could tell a tale with remarkable direct- ness — though he often set forth unim- portant details. [X.] II. He had something definite and pointed to say about nearly all the important personages of history. [XI.] I. He came upon the world of letters just as the middle classes were beginning to read widely, and his Essays were a varied and vol- uminous storehouse of knowledge for them. [XII.] III. His knowledge was accurate, ready, and spon- taneous. F. The secrets of Macaulay's popularity were these : [XIII.] I. He dealt chiefly with the Commonplace. [XIV.] II. He dealt especially with the noble Commonplaces of freedom and love of country. [XV.] III. He was in exact accord with the common senti- ment of the day, never rose above it except in degree, and always expressed it. \G. From these habits of mind arose his defects :] [XVI.] I. He failed to reflect the more generous Common- places, and to suggest spiritual problems. [XVII.] II. With all his trenchancy he had not the power of abstract thinking or the habit of meditation, necessary to all great work. [XVIII.] III. His style, which reproduces the habits of his mind, his strength, manliness, directness, and clearness, reflects in its form these bad quali- ties also. 1. It rests on a fundamental misconception — that written prose should reproduce the measures of spoken prose. 2. It has little grace, harmony, or benignity, and is superficial. 3. It is too unqualified, too certain. 4. It has no abandon. J. It is harsh and inelastic. 6. It is merely a literary instrument, and, as such, fails to suggest any reserve power in the writer. [XIX.] [XX.] [XXI.] [XXII.] [XXIII.] 2l6 Notes [XXIV.] [XXV.] [XXVI.] [XXVII.] 7- 8. 9- [XXVIII.] [XXIX.] It often deals with trivial details. It is often merely the literary picturesque made to order (as is seen by comparing it with a passage from Carlyle) . It continually sounds the same note — in which it reproduces the simple directness of Macaulay's mind. IV. These failings appear by comparison of Macaulay 1. With men of the two preceding centuries, as Clarendon and Burke. 2. With contemporary masters of style, as South ey. V. Further, his style as an expression of mind shows faults of intellectual conscience, the result of his hot pursuit of effect. 1. Coarseness, as in his dealing with Boswell. 2. Flat vulgarity, as in his characterization of Montesquieu. Distortion of truth for cheap gaudiness, as in his comment on Swift and Stella. Untruth, as in his criticism of Lucretius. H. On the whole, Macaulay's work has little permanent value for readers of to-day. I. As a historian, he has small value. II. As a man of letters, he failed in that 1 . He spent his strength on the passing day. 2. He left untouched the deeper problems which have become the familiar tasks of the present generation. 3- 4- D. Summary : — In brief, the scheme of structure appears to be as follows : ( I ) to show the importance of defining one's ideas on a subject before pursuing it farther (I.) ; (2) to apply this principle to Macaulay's literary work by giving the main points of interest in his literary life which appeal to the average reader (I.-V.) ; (3) to state the importance of the question and the principle on which the review is based (VI.) ; (4) to state the main point of the discussion (VII.) ; (5) to sum up the good points of Macaulay (VIII. -XII. ) ; (6) to show how the good qualities of his work (XIII.-XV.) led Macaulay 217 (7) to his shortcomings (XVI. and XVII.) and especially to the defects of his style (XVIII.-XXVIII.) ; and (8) to sum up the main points (XXIX.). IV. Questions on the Structure of the Essay. — We have still to determine several points in structure. We must find out (i) whether the structure as outlined in the plans given above meets the con- ditions laid down (p. 210) ; (2) whether there are any extraneous details and digressions from the line of thought ; (3) in what order the thought is presented ; (4) how the paragraphs are made in detail ; (5) how they are linked together. These are points of structure and, as such, will be brought out by the following notes and queries : 65, I. I. The following schemes show the structure of thought in the paragraph, and will serve the student as a model for the treatment of other paragraphs : It is a good plan to set down your ideas of a book before you read it, as did Gibbon and Strafford ; and since a life of Macaulay is about to appear, the example may well be fol- lowed, especially in view of the fact that the task can now be accomplished in a disinterested and critical spirit. The same result can also be obtained by the use of a logical brief of the ideas, rather more detailed, as follows : It is worth while, before examining Mr. Trevelyan's Life of Macaulay, to inquire briefly what significance or value belongs to his work. I. Such practice is, in general, useful, since : I. It helps to give clearness and reality to our acquisitions from books, a right place and an independent shape. This is shown in a. Gibbon's practice 1 and b. Strafford's practice. II. It is especially suitable to Macaulay, since : 1 . His life is to appear in excellent form, and 2. We may now, after the lapse of seventeen years, think of him disinterestedly. J The example does not occur in the article in the Fortnightly Review. 2t8 Notes 65, I. — 66, 3. What is the structural value of the position of the examples from Gibbon and Strafford? Why are they placed at the beginning? — 66, 3-5. What is the relation of the first member of the sentence to the preceding sentences? — 66, 7. In a word, what does the phrase, "At this moment," point out in regard to the structure of the paragraph? — 66, 13-19. Do you see any reason for the placing of the main sentence at this point in the paragraph rather than at the beginning? — 66, 15. How do the words, " on Strafford's plan," bind the first and the last of the paragraph together? 67, II. 1-3. What is the value of the opening sentence? How does the paragraph structure differ from that of I.? Analyze the progression of thought in the paragraph. — 68, 5-7. What does the closing sentence tell you about the purpose of the paragraph ? 68, III. 8-12. What relation does the opening sentence bear to the rest of the paragraph? — 68, g. What is the value of the word "this"? — 68, 12-14. Explain how the sentence is related to the preceding sentence and to the following. What would be the gain or loss in striking it out? — 68, 14-17. If the third sentence con- tains the topic of the paragraph, what gain to the ideas comes from the following sentences? How does the sentence bear on para- graph I . ? 69, IV. 7. The paragraph structure is interesting. Starting with the assertion that to Macaulay and Mill the present generation of journalists owes most of its traits, and giving the reason for ex- cluding such a man as Carlyle, the paragraph goes on to state the points of similarity between Macaulay and Mill (sentences 3 and 4) as a prelude to a statement (specifically introduced by sentence 5) of the great difference in their influence. Does the paragraph seem to help the reader to a clearer understanding of the former paragraph ? 70, V. 8. Do you find any one sentence which seems to contain the gist of the paragraph ? How is the paragraph connected with IV.? What is the use of V. as related to IV.? Does Mr. Morley seem to be feeling his way here by suggesting a number of things about Macaulay? 71, VI. 24. A note on the function of paragraph VI. is perhaps worth while. The paragraph introduces a new element in the dis- cussion. After stating, in a general way, the bad effects of Macau- lay's influence (IV.) and tracing these to his strength of mind (V.), Macaulay 219 Mr. Morley turns to the immediate issue — which is to examine more exactly and in an impartial spirit the good and the bad effects of Macaulay's work. The insistence on this careful examination is very necessary; for it is the crucial point of the essay — to con- vince the reader that the examination must be made, and made in a spirit of fairness. Hence the length and explicitness of the par- agraph. The topic is contained in the first sentence, but is got at only after a long subordinate clause, which sums up the preceding paragraph and introduces other contingencies. Does the paragraph throw any light on the structural value of the preceding digres- sions? — 72, 8. What is the value of the emphatic short sentence? {Cf. Rhetoric, "p. 156.) — '8,4. Analyze the structural function of " Now " in relation to the following sentences. How about " But " (20)? 74, VII. I. What is the function of the paragraph ? Does it state the specific issue of the essay ? — Should you say that the first seven paragraphs of the essay form the introduction ? 75, VIII. 9. Do you notice any general change in the structure of the paragraph (and the following four paragraphs) from the type of the foregoing? Is the substance stated more or less emphati- cally, directly, and with more or fewer supporting reasons? Can you account for the change, if any? Does the opening sentence tell anything about any of the following paragraphs ? 76, IX. 17. Compare the structure of this paragraph with that of paragraph II. How does the structure differ from that of VIII.? 77, X. 16. The comparative conciseness of the paragraph and the precise introduction are to be noted. "Another reason" intro- duces the topic at once. Does the difference in manner between this and the preceding paragraph signify anything? 78, XI. I. How is the paragraph connected with the preceding? Does the paragraph really add anything to the preceding? Do you notice any change in the point of view, or in the method ? 79, XII. 18. What is the topicrsentence of the paragraph? Do the opening sentences mislead you in regard to the main idea of the paragraph? Can you account for the obvious difference in method between this and the preceding paragraph? 80, XIII. 10. What does a comparison of the paragraph with par- agraphs VI. and IX. show with regard to the structure? Which is the topic-sentence? Does the long digression seem necessary? 220 Notes {Cf. VI.) At this point in the essay do you note any change in the point of view ? Why does the discussion of the Commonplace seem necessary here? 82, XIV. 8-10. How does the opening sentence connect XIII. and XIV. ? — 82, 1 1 . What is the force of " yet " in the structure of the paragraph? Have you noticed similar structure in any para- graph? {Cf. VI., XV.) — 84, 7-14. What is the function, in the paragraph, of the closing sentence ? 84, XV. 15. The structural effect of the paragraph is worth not- ing, though part of the total effect is undoubtedly due to style. Starting with the general assertion that Macaulay "was in exact accord with the common average sentiment of his time," the para- graph goes on by a series of contrasts to look at his mind from two points of view. For example, sentence 2 is in direct contrast to sentence i; "he was" — "was not" is the order. So, too, the halves of sentence 3 are opposites of each other ; and the opposition of sentence to sentence is carried out in the paragraph. How does all this lead into the next paragraph ? Is the paragraph emphasis plainly indicated? 86, XVI. 3. Show how in the paragraph the good points of Macaulay are converted into the bad. — 86, 7. What is the structural value of " and " ? — 86, 1 3. Of " yet " ? — 86, 20—87, g. What part do the following sentences play in the paragraph, and in the group of paragraphs? 87, XVII. 10. The closeness of the connection in thought and phrase between this and the preceding paragraph should be noted. Point out the words which make the connection. (Cf. Rhetoric, p. 175, v.). Do you notice any similarity between the opening clause of this paragraph, and that of XVI.? 88, XVIII. I. To how many paragraphs do the words " and this '' refer? — 88, 1-3. Does the sentence anticipate a long discussion of style ? If so, do you notice in the arrangement of ideas in the group of paragraphs any similarity to that of the whole essay up to this point? Specifically, from what point of view does the paragraph look at Macaulay ? 89, XIX. 3. What peculiarities, if any, do you note in the transi- tion of this paragraph as compared with the three preceding? Is the purpose of the following digression (7 — 90, 8) clear? What do you regard as the chief sentence of the paragraph? How, from the Macaulay 221 point of view of clearness {cf. Rhetoric, pp. 187-197), does the arrangement of "the paragraph strike you? 90, XX. 23. What does " yet " indicate with regard to the structure of the paragraph ? What is the structural value of "And " (23 and 28) at the beginning of the two following sentences? Do these connectives malie the ideas more emphatic as well as more coherent? 91, XXI. 12. From the same point of view, note the function of " except." Have you observed many other examples of the same sort of antithesis, represented by the formula, ft is . . . but . . . (Cf. 86, 13.) — 91, 15. Note how the phrase, "To such persons," so to speak, dovetails (cf. Rhetoric, p. 175, V.) the sentence with the preceding. Should you say that there are many examples of the same sort in the essay ? " 92, XXII. 5-9. Has this direct, emphatic way of putting things any structural significance? {Cf. Rhetoric, p. 156, 5, (3).) 93, XXIII. 23. Compare, from the point of view of structure, "But" and the sentence which it introduces with other paragraphs. Note, also, the shortness of the sentence. — 95, 23. "The most imaginative piece," etc. What would have been the effect of an illustration from Macaulay? Would it have held back the reader, or have aided him ? 96, XXIV. 16. Note how " But" reduces Macaulay from the first rank as a rhetorician, just as the word in the preceding paragraph (93, 23) lowered him from the position of an imaginative writer to that of a rhetorician. 97, XXV. 14-18. The form of transition is, to a degree, typical of the essay : the first looks back to the preceding paragraph ; the second states the topic. 101, XXVII. IS- Between this paragraph and the preceding stood in the essay, as originally printed in the Fortnightly Review, the following paragraph. Does it make the connection of thought clearer? " With this exquisite modulation still delighting the ear, we open Macaulay's ^Jja/J and stumble on such sentences as this: 'That Tickell should have been guilty of a villany seems to us highly improbable. That Addison should have been guilty of a villany seems to us highly improbable. But that these two men should have conspired together to commit a villany seems to us improbable in a tenfold degree.' 'O fuapov, koI Trajn/xtopov, xai /uapiDTaTav. 222 Notes Surely this is the very burlesque and travesty of a style. Yet it is a characteristic passage. It would be easy to find a thousand ex- amples of the same vicious workmanship, and it would be difficult to find a page in which these cut and disjointed sentences are not the type and mode of the prevailing rhythm." 101, 19. What effect is produced by the short second sentence coming after the long first sentence? (Cf. XXIII.) — 102, 9-16. Is the definition of " vulgar " necessary in making clear or emphatic the line of thought ? If so, why ? 104, XXVIII. 20. Why is a more explicit and less roundabout introduction, as in XXVII., unnecessary here? 105, XXIX. 9. Does the last paragraph stand apart by itself? Would it be clear without the preceding paragraph ? State specifi- cally, as in I., its connection with the preceding line of thought. Does it add new ideas, or look at Macaulay from a new point of view? V. Summary. — The answers to the preceding questions may be summed up by the answers to the following more general questions : 1 . Can you make any general division of the essay into introduc- tion, body of the work, and conclusion? Indicate the divisions. 2. In the introduction what are the main points brought out? Do they bear directly on what follows? Are there any digressions? 3. Can you distinguish groups of thought in the body of the essay? Are these groups clearly related? Do you notice any repe- tition of the points made in the introduction ? If so, can you account for these from the point of view of the general purpose of the essay (II. 2)? 4. Does the conclusion sum up the essay? Are any new points brought out either directly or by suggestion ? 5. Does the paragraph structure point out anything in regard to the structure of the thought as a whole? Are the paragraphs closely related or isolated ? Do you recognize prevailing paragraph types, such, for example, as the " balanced " or " antithetical " type or the so-called " deductive " or " loose " type, which states the main idea first and proceeds to the amplification? Is the same structure noticeable, on the one hand, in the sentences ; on the other, in the whole composition? VI. General Suggestions for Study. — The object of the foregoing study is to give a student a better grip of the kind of writing which On the Study of Celtic Literature 223 the essay represents, to see how such essays are made up, to distin- guish essentials from minor points. To gain a wider knowledge of the structure of essays, a student would do well to compare with Mr. Morley's essay, Walter Bagehot's review of the History (Literary Studies, Vol. II.), and Mr. Leslie Stephen's rather more philosophi- cal essay on the same author {Hours in a Library, V.0I. II.). A more extended study of structure of this sort, with special reference to the point of view, can profitably be made by comparing the essays on Wordsworth by Mr. Morley {Studies in Literature), Walter Bagehot {Literary Studies, Vol. II.), Professor Edward Dowden {Studies in Literature), Matthew Arnold {Essays in Criticism, Second Series), Walter Pater {Appreciations), and Frederick W. Robertson {Lectures and Addresses on Literary and Social Topics). In all these, and especially in the two last-named, the points of view are quite different from one another, and the audiences, imaginary or real, are entirely unlike. For general questions on the structure of such essays, see page 241 at the end of these notes. IV. ON THE STUDY OF CELTIC LITERATURE I. Purpose of the Essay. — In the selection from the lectures On the Study of Celtic Literature, we are dealing, as in the two foregoing essays, with expository matter. As a whole, then, the present selection may be deemed to add nothing essentially new to our knowledge of thought-structure ; like the two former it is merely the presentation of ideas. The essay, however, is interesting as presenting several new objects of study : its structure, while easy to see through, is rather more complicated than that of the Macaulay ; and it is much more conclusive and more firmly knit together than that of either of the two preceding; it differs from them not so much in any fundamental way, as in the care with which each step is worked out. Hence it is here introduced as an example of another variety of method. II. Principles of Structure. — From what has been said in the preface to the selection (p. 107) it is evident that Arnold is here dealing with matter more or less unexplored, or often ill-treated and neglected. This, in fact, accounts for the elaborateness of Arnold's treatment, and for his care to make each step clear as he goes along. 224 Notes In Personal Experience and Review Stevenson, since he had no point to prove, was merely giving, in a rather disconnected way, the result of his observations ; and in Macaulay, Mr. Morley attempted to present one line of thought on a well-known subject. Neither essay, then, had need of the great elaborateness which came to Arnold's essay, partly by the nature of the subject, and partly also from Arnold's habit of mind. In the second place, it should be noted that the present lectures did not have to be compressed into the narrow limits of a magazine article, — they were first printed in serial form, — but could be much more thoroughly de- veloped. Again, the lectures were primarily intended to be heard, not read ; hence they had, on the whole, to be more clearly and carefully elaborated, and they were perhaps often carried out to too great length. So we shall find in the selection (i) greater com- pleteness in the method, (2) greater fairness in the presentation of the material, and (3) a greater degree of rounding out of the struct- ure and of clearness in the style, than in the preceding essay. Our problem is to see how Arnold has gone to work to make his essay, and to look into the details of structure. III. Structure of the Whole Essay. — Before working out this problem in detail, we shall do well to glance at the structure of the whole essay. This, which has been roughly indicated in the pref- atory note (p. 107) and in the summing-up (p. 132), lends itself most readily to the following treatment : [Specific introduction.] An account of the ceremonies at the yearly Cel- tic festival in Wales (I.-IV.). This showed The ineffectiveness of these cere- monies in that they attempted to re- vive Celtic customs and treated the whole subject much too sentimentally (V.-VI.). Their value in hinting at the right place of Celtic influence on English {VII. ), an inquiry which must be made on purely scientific grounds (VIII.-X.). On the Study of Celtic Literature 225 [Section I.] The ground for this inquiry is furnished in the enormous mass of Celtic literature, in manu- scripts and anthologies (I.-III.). This material has heretofore been neglected because of The Celt-lovers who have inter- preted it absurdly (IV. to the end of the chapter) . And of the destructive criticisms of Celt-haters (IV. to the end). I [Section II.] But the conclusions of these anti-Celts are merely nega- tive (I.). They do not vitally affect the Cehic question (I I. -IV.). This is made clear by an examination of^ The testimony of the Romans (V., VI.) to the Celtic wisdom and dis- cipline. The Welsh tradition of the sixth century, and the manuscripts of the twelfth, which testify to the existence of a primitive literature (VII.). The documents which reveal the antiquity of the ideas (VIII., IX.). The mythology (X.-XXI.), which shows the Celt-haters to be quite in the wrong. The philology, which enables us scientifically to place these Celtic fragments, and definitely to establish the existence of a literature (XXII.- XXV.). Philology further shows that there exists a general racial connection be- tween the Celtic and the Teutonic peoples (XXVI.-XXIX.). [Section 1 1 1 .1] And though philol- ogy proves nothing minutely definite with regard to the relations of the Celt to the Saxon, it at least suggests a line of scientific inquiry which may throw some light on the question of relation (I., II.). The tests are Philological, which at least shows that there is no evidence for the assumption that- there exists no Celtic element in English (III.). Physiological, which, though in- completely applied, may lead one to hesitate in the assertion that there ' The first six paragraphs of the selection in th^ text, pp. ioS-ix6, Q 326 Notes exists no Celtic element in English (IV.-VI.). The spiritual test (VI. fF.)- [Section IV.] The spiritual test ne- cessitates a discussion of the genius of the nations which may possibly have to do with the question (I. and X.i). The German genius — steadiness with honesty (I.). The Celtic genius — sentiment (II. -VII.). The Norman genius — decisiveness (VIII.-IX.). These are- r The problem is the tracing of these elements in the composite Enghsh genius (X.). [Section V.] show > VII.-XVI. of the text as numbered. the intervening paragraphs. Now the English (" A marked capacity among Ger- manic nations for rhetoric. This is due to the influence of the Normans, who inherited the power from the Romans (I.). In painting and sculpture the Eng- lish stand between the Cehs, who had no capacity for these arts, and the Germans, who have shown large capacity for them (II.). In the same way the Germanic strain in the religion of the English is modified, probably by Celtic in- fluence (III.). In the two foregoing cases there may be some doubt whence the influence comes, but indications point to its Celtic origin (IV.-XVII., in- cluding quotation). The Celtic mixture is more clearly shown in the carriage and manner of the English (XVIII.). Corresponding changes have been made ia On the Study of Celtic Literature 227 i Most clearly is the Celtic influence to, be seen in English poetry (XIX.). [Section VI.] From a Celtic source English poetry gets (i) probably much of its turn for style, (2) much of its melancholy, and (3) nearly all its natural magic (I.) (i) Style, which the Germans have not (H.-IV.), which the Celts have (V.-VIII.), and which in all probability could not have come from a Norman source (IX.). (2) Melancholy and passion, which are very strong in Celtic poetry (X.-XIII.). (3) Natural magic, which among older literatures is exclusively the prop- erty of the Celtic (XIV.-XXIII.). [Conclusion, Section VI.] It is this mixture of elements, and particularly the presence of the Celtic element, which, unrecognized and untrained, may prove fatal to the nation, but, properly mastered and built up, may lead to a settlement of literary, political, and social problems (XXIV.-XXVIII.). The foregoing general analysis of the essay as a whole will show how, from the point of view of structure, its conclusiveness is brought about. There are four processes to the structure : (i) the bringing in of new material ; (2) the examination of that material from as many points of view as may be necessary ; (3) the exclu- sion of those results which are not significant ; and (4) the testing of the chosen result from a new point of view or the applying of new material to it in order to refine it still further. IV. Questions on the Details of Structure. — Our task does by no means end with this general outline ; we have still to examine the details of structure. In this examination we shall have to look for several things which have not appeared in the preceding essays, and to these our attention may be confined. 108, I. I, 2. The sentence should be looked at as an example of the directness with which Arnold sums up his results before going on to new positions. The three following sentences complete the opening sentence by showing just what is the importance on the problem at issue of the question of general race affinity. The fifth sentence states the real point at issue : namely, the determining the influence of one nation on another after "the embryo has grown 228 Notes and solidified into a distinct nation." The sixth sentence shows that mutual influence under these conditions is not known between the German of history and the Celt of history. The seventh attempts to demonstrate that some contact did exist on English soil. The eighth, from this, assumes the possibility of influence of Celt upon Saxon in England. The ninth and tenth state, by two examples, a prevalent view that such intercourse did, however, not exist ; and that this is a position to be looked into. The paragraph as a study in progression should be compared with the following from Culture and Anarchy : "If culture, then, is a study of perfection, and of harmonious perfection, general perfection, and perfection which consists in becoming something rather than in having something, in an inward condition of the mind and spirit, not in an outward set of circum- stances [summing up of the positions of the preceding nine para- graphs (cf. Froude 14, 1-7.)], — it is clear that culture, instead of being the frivolous and useless thing which Mr. Bright, and Mr. Frederic Harrison, and many other Liberals are apt to call it [sum- ming up of the attacks upon culture of the preceding nine para- graphs] , has a very important function to fulfil for mankind [topic sentence]. And this function is particularly important in our modern world [first limitation of the topic], of which the whole civilisation is, to a much greater degree than the civilisation of Greece and Rome, mechanical and external, and tends constantly to become more so [reasons for the particular importance of culture in our modern world]. But above all in our own country has culture a weighty part to perform [second limitation of the topic], because here that mechanical character, which civilisation tends to take everywhere [repetition of the reason of sentence i], is shown in the most eminent degree [reason for the importance of culture to England]. Indeed nearly all the characters of perfection, as culture teaches us to fix them [repetition of the opening sentence], meet in this country with some powerful tendency which thwarts them and sets them at defiance [strengthening of the reasons for foster- ing culture]. The idea of perfection as an inward condition of the mind and spirit is at variance with the mechanical and material civilisation in esteem with us, and nowhere, as I have said, so much in esteem as with us [explication of the topic-sentence by singling out one of the attributes of culture and opposing it to a chief On the Study of Celtic Literature 229 characteristic of English civilisation]. The idea of perfection as a general expansion of the human family is at variance with our strong individualism, our hatred of all limits to the unrestrained swing of the individual's personality, our maxim of 'every man for himself [further explication of the topic-sentence by singling out a second of the attributes of culture and opposing it to certain characteristics of English civilisation] . Above all, the idea of per- fection as a harm-onious expansion of human nature is at variance with our want of flexibility, with our inaptitude for seeing more than one side of a thing, with our intense energetic absorptior ■" *' lar- ticular pursuit we happen to be following [third explica the topic-sentence by singling out one of the attributes of culture — as stated the most important — and opposing it to other chief charac- teristics of English civilisation]. So culture has a rough task to achieve in this country [summary and introduction to the final topics]. Its preachers have, and are likely long to have, a hard time of it, and they will much oftener be regarded, for a great while to come, as elegant or spurious Jeremiahs than as friends and bene- factors [statement of the difficulties which culture will have to encounter — used as an introduction to the closing sentences]. That, however, will not prevent their doing in the end good ser- vice if they persevere [structurally an introduction, by antithesis, to the closing sentence]. And, meanwhile, the mode of action they have to pursue, and the sort of habits they must fight against, ought to be made quite clear for everyone to see, who may be will- ing to look at the matter attentively and dispassionately [intro- duction to a specific account of the ' habits they must fight against']." — Sweetness and Light, paragraph X. Do you note in the essay other examples of this sort of para- graph structure? In general, how do such paragraphs affect the structure of the essay, by making it clearer or bringing its parts more firmly together? — 108, 14-20. The repetition of clauses and the balance of the sentence should be noted. Does this structure seem to have value in helping on the progression of thought ? Do you note, in the remaining paragraphs, other cases of the same method? 110, II. I. How is this paragraph related to the preceding? What is its function ? (C/". Macaulay, VI .) Is its length, compared with that of the other paragraphs, significant? In other words, should the paragraph be emphatic and very definite? 230 Notes no, III. 16-22. Analyze the sentence to discover (i) the amount of exact or so-called " explicit reference " by words to the preceding paragraph, (2) the limitations which it imposes upon the author, and its exact connection with the following sentences. How about the emphasis? — 112, 17-20. What is the bearing of the last member of the sentence on I. and II.? Compare the opening of the next paragraph for the same object. 113, IV. 25, 26. What gain or loss to the firmness of structure do you see in this reference to the closing sentences of para- graph I.? 115, VI. 2. Note the tentativeness of the conclusion, "may lead us to hesitate before accepting the round assertion that it is vain to search for Celtic elements in any modern Englishman." How many times has that idea been expressed, or at least strongly im- plied, in the preceding five paragraphs, as, for example, in II.? — 115, 5. Would the omission of the words "of physiology and lan- guage,'' have weakened the structure of the paragraph as regards clearness? — 115, 6. What is the twofold value of the comparison beginning "As there are . . . "? — 116, 5, 6. Note again the repe- tition of this idea. 117, VII. 12-28. Does the long last sentence seem to do more than repeat the two preceding? Does it digress merely, or really add something necessary to make the idea clearer? 118, VIII. 1-7. What is the function of the opening sentence, in- cluding the quotation ? The second sentence obviously looks back to the last paragraph. — 118, 13 — 119, 8. What is the point of the group of sentences? Do they render the word "sentiment" clearer? What, then, is the use of the rest of the paragraph? (Cy. VII.) Explain the paragraph in detail. — 120, 20. The sum- ming up of the paragraph in a word, "sentimental," should be noted. Since the word has been carefully established, it furnishes the pivot on which the following five paragraphs revolve. 120, IX. 21. "Sentimental." Note the emphatic definition of the word as a prelude to the examination of the corresponding trait in the Celts. From what point of view, then, does this paragraph test the sentimentality of the Celt? — 121, 2-6. What, specifically, is the object of the sentence in clearing up the structure or estab- lishing a point of view? — 121, 26. What is the value of the sentence ? On the Study of Celtic Literature 231 123, X. 6. From what point of view does the paragraph take up the word "sentimental"? How many paragraphs does the sentence (6-9) introduce? — 123, 29. Note the repetition of the text "creeping Saxon." 124, XI. 10. What can you say about the point of view of this paragraph ? Do you note any change in tone or degree of elabora- tion? {Cf. II. and Macaulay, XXVIII.) 124, XII. 21. What further change in the way of looking at the Celt do you observe in this paragraph ? What place does the fre- quent repetition of the word " sensibility " play in this change and in the paragraph structure? 127, XIII. 8. How is the paragraph related in thought to the preceding? Is that relation clearly indicated by the wording? What new idea is brought out? In general, have you noticed in the group of five paragraphs dealing with the Celtic genius, any ideas or illustrations which seem to furnish texts for further devel- opment and illustration in Chapter VI. as outlined on page 227 ? This method of structure by the reiteration of catchwords may be made clearer by one or two illustrations from other of Arnold's works. Compare the following from Culture and Anarchy : "... Culture is then properly described not as having its origin in curiosity, but as having its origin in the love of perfection ; it is a study of perfection [Pivotal phrase, so to speak, like " sentimental "] . It moves by the force, not merely or primarily of the scientific pas- sion for pure knowledge, but also of the moral and social passion for doing good. As, in the first view of it, we took for its worthy motto Montesquieu's words : ' To render an intelligent being yet more intelligent ! ' so, in the second view of it, there is no better motto which it can have than these words of Bishop Wilson : ' To make reason and the will of God prevail [Text] ! ' " Only, whereas the passion for doing good is apt to be overhasty in determining what reason and the will of God [Text] say, because its turn is for acting rather than thinking and it wants to be begin- ning to act ; and whereas it is apt to take its own conceptions, which proceed from its own state of development and share in all the imperfections and immaturities of this, for a basis of action ; what distinguishes culture is, that it is possessed by the scientific passion as well as by the passion for doing good ; that it demands worthy notions of reason and the will of God [Text], and does not readily 232 Notes suffer its own crude conceptions to substitute themselves for them. And knowing that no action or institution can be salutary and stable which is not based on reason and the will of God [Text],, it is not so bent on acting and instituting, even with the great aim of diminishing human error and misery ever before its thoughts, but that it can remember that acting and instituting are of little use, unless we know how and what we ought to act and to institute. " This culture is more interesting and more far-reaching than that other, which is founded solely on the scientific passion for knowing. But it needs times of faith and ardour, times when the intellectual horizon is opening and widening all round us, to flourish in. And is not the close and bounded intellectual horizon within which we have long lived and moved now lifting up, and are not new lights finding free passage to shine in upon us? For a long time there was no passage for them to make their way in upon us, and then it was of no use to think of adapting the world's action to them. Where was the hope of making reason and the will of God prevail [Text] among people who had a routine which they had christened reason and the will of God [Text], in which they were inextricably bound, and beyond which they had no power of looking? But now the iron force of adhesion to the old routine, — social, political, religious, — has wonderfully yielded ; the iron force of exclusion of all which is new has wonderfully yielded. The danger now is not that people should obstinately refuse to allow anything but their old routine to pass for reason and the will of God [Text], but either that they should allow some novelty or other to pass for these too easily, or else that they should underrate the importance of them altogether, and think it enough to follow action for its own sake, without troubling themselves to make reason and the will of God prevail [Text] therein. Now, then, is the moment for culture to be of service, culture which believes in making reason and the will of God prevail [Text], believes in perfection, is a study and pursuit of perfection [Pivotal phrase], and is no longer debarred, by a rigid invincible study of whatever is new, from getting acceptance for its ideas, simply because they are new. " The moment this view of culture is seized, the moment it is regarded not solely as the endeavour to see things as they are, to draw towards a knowledge of the universal order which seems to be intended and aimed at in the world, and which it is a man's happi- On the Study of Celtic Literature 233 ness to go along with or his misery to go counter to, — to learn, in short, the will of God [Text], — the moment, I say, culture is con- sidered not merely as the endeavour to see and learn this, but as the endeavour, also, to make it prevail [Text], the moral, social, and beneficent character of culture becomes manifest. The mere en- deavour to see and learn the truth for our own personal satisfaction is indeed a commencement for mailing it prevail [Text], a preparing the way for this, which always serves this, and is wrongly, therefore, stamped with blame absolutely in itself and not only in its caricature and degeneration. But perhaps it has got stamped with blame, and disparaged with the dubious title of curiosity, because in comparison with this wider endeavour of such great and plain utility it looks selfish, petty, and unprofitable." — Sweetness and Light, paragraphs III.^VI. Compare, also, from On Translating Homer : " Homer is rapid in his movement, Homer is plain in his words and style. Homer is simple in his ideas, Homer is noble in his manner. Cowper renders him ill because he is slow in his move- ment, and elaborate in his style ; Pope renders him ill because he is artificial both in his style and in his words ; Chapman renders him ill because he is fantastic in his ideas ; Mr. Newman renders him ill because he is odd in his words and ignoble in his manner. All four translators diverge from tlieir original at other points besides those named ; but it is at the points thus named that their diver- gence is greatest. For instance, Cowper's diction is not as Homer's diction, nor his nobleness as Homer's nobleness ; but it is in move- ment and grammatical style that he is most unlike Homer. Pope's rapidity is not of the same sort as Homer's rapidity, nor are his plainness of ideas and his nobleness as Homer's plainness of ideas and nobleness ; but it is in the artificial character of his style and diction that he is most unlike Homer. Chapman's movement, words, style, and manner, are often far enough from resembling Homer's movement, words, style, and manner; but it is the fantasticality of his ideas which puts him farthest from resembling Homer. Mr. Newman's movement, grammatical style, and ideas, are a thousand times in strortg contrast with Homer's ; still it is by the oddness of his diction and "the ignobleness of his manner that he contrasts with Homer the most violently." — Section III., paragraph I. 128, XIV. 12. Notice that the summing up of the discussion by 234 Notes the opening sentence is very tentative : the commingling of the races is still hypothetical. — 128, 15. Can you see any reason, from the point of view of structure, for the excursus on the Norman genius ? — 128, 19. What is the value to the structure of the reference to the " critic of \b.t Saturday Review ^^'i {Cf. I.) Have you any doubt as to the bearing of the paragraph? What is the main idea? 130, XV. 16. What does the paragraph add to the preceding (i) in idea and (2) in point of view? 131, XVI. 16. Note how the topic of the first sentence is de- veloped in the following sentences. Thus : Sentence i. I have got what I went to seek. Sentence 2. I have got a notion of the three kinds of genius. Sentences 3, 4, 5. Of the Germanic, Of the Celtic, Of the Norman, which is . . . which is . . . which is . . . Sentence 6. These three are manifested in the composite English genius. The structure is obviously very clear; but does it also clearly sum up the preceding nine paragraphs? Have you noticed a similarly exact structure in other paragraphs ? Compare, also, the closing paragraph ol Macaulay (p. 105) and What is a University? I. (p. 172) and XI. (p. 184). — 131, 30. Does the word " composite " seem to you to be warranted? In other words, does it not assume the point at issue? (Cy. 128, XIV. 12.) V. Summary. — The results of this investigation may be summed up by specific answers to the following questions : 1. In the selection as printed, what is the point at issue? 2. From how many and what points of view is it looked at? 3. What methods are employed in getting at the main point and keeping if clear of the minor points ? 4. Do you notice, as in Macaulay, any prevailing method of development in the paragraphs? J. Are the paragraphs similar in structure to the whole selec- tion? 6. What is your opinion with regard to the clearness of the whole? By what method is this quality obtained? VI. General Suggestions. — Arnold's work furnishes many excel- lent examples of the sore of structure which we have been consider- The Strength of American Democracy 235 ing. Among the shorter essays are notable The Study of Poetry {Essays in Criticism, Second Series), and The Function of Criti- cism at the Present Time {Essays in Criticism, First Series) ; of the larger works are to be cited Literature and Dogma, On Trans- lating Homer, and especially Culture and Anarchy, of which Chap- ter I., Sweetness and Light, should be examined as an example of an essay built up around two or three texts and moved forward by the repetition of these catchwords. These essays are all ex- cellent examples of exposition so presented as to have the force of argument ; and in this connection it is well for a student to examine, as examples of the same convincing exposition, the late Professor T. H. Huxley's On a Piece of Chalk {Discourses Biological and Geological), On the Formation of Coal {Ibid.), and especially the famous lectures on Evolution {American Addresses). Newman's The Idea of a University is also admirable for this purpose. In these essays the topics, of course, are not pursued with an equal degree of elaborateness or written in the same style. V. THE STRENGTH OF AMERICAN DEMOCRACY I. Object of the Chapter. — Like the essay On the Study of Celtic Literature, the present selection deals with large issues and attempts to present these in a complete and convincing form ; and, as such, it is an example of more highly wrought structure than the first three. It differs from Arnold's structure, principally in that it does not enter into the process step by step and thus reach the conclu- sion, but states the conclusion first, and to this adds the reasons. Since these results are plainly categorized, the chapter appears very simple in structure ; but in reality, as a matter of composition, it is difficult. This difficulty rests in the attainment of the complete view which the author must take of his subject, and in the pene- trating analysis which his purpose necessitates. II. Principles of Structure. — The chapter, it will be noted, attempts to give this complete view of the subject in a necessarily limited space. The completeness of the view naturally excludes any such methods as were used in the first three selections, — such methods as Stevenson's, especially, and Mr. Morley's would have been totally inadequate, and Froude's narrative method would have been 236 Notes out of place, — and the lack of space forbids any such explicit treatment as Arnold's. What Mr. Bryce, then, has done is (i) to classify the results of his reading, information, and observation under such general heads as seem to cover the ground ; (2) to deduce, from each of these masses of facts, a general principle of strength in American democracy ; (3) to expound each principle until it becomes clear ; (4) to select some of the material for illus- tration of each general principle ; and (5), when necessary, to test his results from more than one point of view. in. Structure of the Chapter. — The structure, as a whole, pre- sents no difficulty. The method is the arrangement of the material in one-two-three order, with the subject clearly stated in the opening sentence ; and hence no plan is necessary. The student should, however, keep in mind the seven heads (cf. introductory note to the chapter, p. 133) which Mr. Bryce uses. IV. Questions on the Structure. — Besides the clearness of outline of the essay as a whole, the clearness of structure in each paragraph should be noted. Without taking pains to articulate the sentences, Mr. Bryce is clear and coherent in details, because one idea grows out of another, and because the groups are kept distinct by careful marking. These qualities may be more definitely brought out by the following questions : 133, I. I. Note the exact statement of purpose in the paragraph. Compare the opening of Macaulay's //zj^or)' : "I purpose to write the history of England from the accession of King James the Second down to a time which is within the memory of men still living." 133, II. 6. Note how, in this and in the succeeding paragraphs, the subject is distinctly stated at the outset. — 134, 6-13. Do you see how the example of European instability helps the coherence and emphasis of the main idea of the paragraph? 134, III. 23. " The best proof." Note that the paragraph deals with illustrations. Each {cf. line 26) is introduced with such words as make its bearing clear. {Cf-, for further examples, .fftot'rzc, pp. 159 and 162, 163.) — 135, 11-25. Note how, in the group of three sentences, the specific illustration is introduced by a general state- ment. Do you call to mind other examples of the same sort? 135, IV. 26. In the paragraph can you mark off any general change from a statement of impression to illustrations, such as has been already noted? — 136, 14-18. What is the value of the sen- The Strength of American Democracy 237 tence? Do the ideas become clearer through the opposition? {Cf. 138,23-25 of the same essay, and AfiTi^a/z/rty/, 68, 12-14.) — 137, 11. Should not the paragraph have been broken at this point? Com- pare II. and III. In general, what should you say about the con- nectives in the paragraph, their number, and the closeness with which they bind together the sentences? — 138, 16. Does this clos- ing sentence rightly emphasize the paragraph, that is, does it sum up the paragraph as a whole? (Cf. Rhetoric, p. 156, 5, 2.) 138, V. 18. Examine the following group of paragraphs (V., VI., and VII.) to see whether each member of the group is made on the same plan as IV. ; that is, an exposition of the subject of the sentence followed by illustration of the chief idea. Can you say, that there is a paragraph type? — 139, 9. Note the strong emphasis of the sentence. Does it throw you off the track in regard to the remainder of the paragraph? (Cf. 137, 11.) 143, VIII. 16. Does the interpolated paragraph throw any light on Mr. Bryce's method of using his facts or on the spirit in which he gives the results of his observation? 144, IX. 9. Trace the connection between this paragraph and VII. as indicated in the opening sentence. What gain to the fulness of treatment or to the weightiness of the opinion comes from this e.\amination of the question from a new point of view? — 144, 18. How about the "balanced" structure of the paragraph as indicated by the sentence, "The answer to the first objection . . ." {Cf. Rhetoric, p. 160.) 145, X. 16. How does the paragraph complete IX. in idea and in form? How is it related to VII.? In general, do you see any reason why Mr. Bryce should treat this topic of his chapter — the lack of class distinction — with greater fulness than the rest? Is it that Americans are prouder of their alleged equality, or that on this point there is greater uncertainty ? 147, XI. 17. Are paragraph types recognizable in the group of paragraphs (XI., XII., XIII.)? If so, is the type similar to that of the preceding group? — 147, 29. Note the emphasis of the sentence and the directness of the connective. 150, XIII. 4. In the second edition of The American Common- wealth the paragraph was nearly three times as long. Could it have been omitted altogether without loss to the sense? Is its con- nection with the foregoing clear? 238 Notes 151, XV. 29. Is the paragraph parallel in structure with the preceding or is it subordinate to it? In other words, does it treat the same subject from a new point of view, or does it deal merely with illustration? 152, XVI. 23. Does the closing paragraph seem to you a good summary of the preceding fifteen paragraphs? {Cf. Macaulay, XXIX., and Celtic Literature, XVI.) V. Summary. — A student would do well to make a simple scheme of the paragraph relations, according to whatever plan seems most feasible. He will thus get a complete view of the chapter as a whole. As regards the form and contents, he may sum up his results by answering the following questions : 1 . Can you recognize a prevailing paragraph type ? If so, is the type comparatively more common than in the preceding essays? If this uniformity exists, does it aid greatly in making the whole essay clear? To put the question differently, how far is the great clearness of arrangement due to the paragraph structure? 2. Should there logically be more paragraphs? 3. Is the paragraph unity good? The emphasis? The co- herence? 4. Can you suggest any changes in structure that would make the chapter clearer ? 5. Does the chapter seem to be convincing? What parts impress you most strongly, and why? VI. Suggestions. — Examples of this sort of structure are numer- ous, but are seldom more worthy of study than the passage here quoted. School text-books, especially such as the best grammars, furnish instances of complete analysis of particular facts and cate- gorized results. For the purpose of composition, excellent instances are to be found in Burke ; for example, the analysis of the causes for the love of freedom among Americans, from the Speech on Con- ciliation with America ; in Lord Erskine's Speeches ; in Mr. Lecky's History of European Morals ; in Mr. John Fiske's The Critical Period of American History ; and in many other books which deal with history in an expository manner. In all these the struct- ure is difficult in proportion as the material is hard to handle and vast in extent ; and in all, it should be kept in mind, the structure is good in so far as the analysis of the question is complete, and the presentation of the results simple. The Crown of Wild Olive 239 VI. THE CROWN OF WILD OLIVE The present selection is far more significant as a piece of style than as an example of structure. As the latter, indeed, it adds almost nothing of interest to the preceding essays, and is certainly much inferior to the selections from Arnold and Bryce. The struct- ure may be summed up, in a word, as follows : Starting with two examples of the bad spirit displayed in modern business (I. ,11.), the author inquires into the causes of such ill-doing (III.) ; and these he believes he finds in the wrong use of capital (IV., v.), the willingness of people to be beguiled into buying the wrong thing (VI.), owing to their inability to distinguish profitable from useless work (VII.). Everywhere there stands out this one great failing of people — to realize that the value of anything de- pends on its intrinsic worth (VIII.) ; and the failure on the part of the audience to recognize this fact constitutes the great difficulty against which the author has to contend in giving his lectures (IX.). This leads him to a statement of his second great obstacle — his in- ability to assume and to formulate on the part of his hearers any definite belief in regard to the future life (X., XL), a fact which, as he goes on to say (XII.), kept him from driving his points home, though he always tried to assume among his hearers a belief in God, and to encourage that belief. He then enters his eloquent plea for earnestness of purpose, no matter what the future may be, and for a cherishing of the genuine rewards of work (XIII.-XVI.). In the details of the selection we do not see much that is new. The most, interesting things are paragraphs I. and II., the sec- ond of which is, so to speak, the complement of the first, and gives the reverse of the picture of modern bad ways ; the structural repetitions of the names on 163, 9-12, and 164, 8-28; and the fre- quent hints and statements of the author's point of view, as in "inner tragic meaning" (155, 11), in 160, 16-18, and in the last six or eight paragraphs (^passim) . In general, a student would do well to ask himself whether he can follow the course of thought readily from beginning to end ; whether the essay is to be prized less specifically as an introduction (^tf. Bryce, I.) to a series of lectures — which are but six or seven times as long as the selection — than as a statement of a point of 240 Notes view, with the object of clearing up dubious ground, or of interest- ing the sympathies of the reader ; and whether in any case the essay might not have profitably ended sooner than it does. As an aid in determining Ruskin's point of view, a student should turn to such works as Sesame and Lilies and Fors Clavigera. In determining the question whether an essay is valuable for its spirit and view of life or for its specific facts, he will be aided by reading such works as Carlyle's Sartor Resartus, Heroes and Hero-Worship, any of Emerson's Essays, such essays by Stevenson as The English Ad- mirals, such by Lowell as On a Certain Condescension in Foreigners ; and even more dogmatic essays, such as Arnold's Culture and Anarchy. VII. WHAT IS A UNIVERSITY? The present selection from Newman may be disposed of in a few words. It is interesting both as an example of fine-drawn structure and of clear, luminous, highly polished style ; but from our point of view — the examination of the arrangement of the thought — it presents little to supplement what has been said in the foregoing notes about structure, and offers less difficulty to the student — to whom may be left, now that he has gained some notion of struct- ural forms, the making of a general plan and the analysis of the details .of the building up and joining together. One or two observations only are necessary. The chapter is occupied entirely with a definition of what a university is. This definition may seem needlessly long — until it is borne in mind that the chapter is the starting-point of the whole treatise on the Rise and Progress of Universities ; hence Newman's object to secure great clearness and luminosity for this fundamental idea, and his desire to fire the subject with his own enthusiasm for it and to make it glow in the mind of his reader. The latter end he attains through his style ; the former, with which we are now concerned, is a matter of structure. The opening paragraph contains the definition ; the remainder of the chapter is taken up with an examination of the definition from various points of view, with illustrations of the ideas, with contrasts, and with summaries. (For a full and interesting statement of the methods by which a writer may, in general, expand his fundamental idea, see Genung, The Practical Elements of Rhetoric, ed. 1894, pp. 389-402.) General Questions on Structure 241 The chief points to be noted in the structure of the chapter, — and these processes should be examined in detail by the student, — are: (i) the narrowing down of the subject from the two great rival methods of teaching, in the opening paragraphs, to the idea of the oral method, or the university ideal ; (2) the sustained antithesis between these two ideas (IV.) ; (3) the balance of the paragraphs (as in VI., VII., and VIII.) and in the sentences (as in XI.) ; (4) the deafness of transition and exactness of emphasis (as in V. and VI.) ; (5) and the significance and copiousness of the illustration. These are the sources from which the chapTer gains its great clearness of structure, of which, as may be seen by examining Discourse II. of The Idea of a University, Newman is his own great example. GENERAL QUESTIONS ON STRUCTURE The following list of questions is added to enable a student who has followed the discussion to this point to criticise more thorbughly any bit of explanatory work which he may have to take up. These questions naturally fall into two groups: (i) those on the kind of composition and form of structure ; and (2) those on the excellence of the method as a carrying out of the author's purpose. The former — which are again divided into three classes — enable a student roughly to see what an author has attempted to do, and how he has done it, both as a whole and in detail ; the latter have as their aim to aid the student in forming critical judgments in regard to the value of the work. I. Questions on the form of composition and kind of structure : A. On the kind of composition : 1. What is the purpose of the author? 2. What is the nature of his subject-matter? 3. What are the conditions under which he is writing? 4. Whom does he address? 5. I5 the answer to any one of the foregoing questions directly stated in the essay ? Is it implied or suggested ? 6. What, in view of the answers to the foregoing, should you naturally expect to be the most noticeable quality in the arrangement of the composition? 242 Notes 7. As a matter of fact, how does the essay impress you ? Is your expectation borne out ? 8. Is the personality of the author in any way suggested by the essay ? B. On the structure of the composition : 1. Can you malce any general division of the essay into intro- duction, body of the work, and conclusion? 2. In the introduction does the author do more than state his object? Does he give you any outline of the thought? Does he make any special demand on his reader or appeal to him? 3. What are the main points in the body of the essay? 4. Are these points closely related? Do they fall into groups? Are they intimately connected with the introduction and do they carry out the line of thought indicated in it? 5. Do you notice the repetition of any points? 6. What does the author attempt in the conclusion? Does he try to " strike a balance," so to speak, to leave a pleasant impres- sion on the reader's mind, or to make an exact summary? 7. How is the conclusion related to the rest of the essay? 8. In the conclusion are any new points brought out either directly or by suggestion? 9. In general, what relation has the explicitness of the essay to the object which the author has in mind, to the condition under which he writes, to the audience whom he addresses? What rela- tion has the arrangement of the essay to these things? C. On the rhetorical forms and details of structure : I. Do you notice in the essay any prevailing type of structure (in the whole composition, in the paragraphs, or in the sentences) to which you can give such names as " antithetical," i.e. the bal- ancing of the parts of the elements of the composition against one another ; " deductive," i.e. the statement of the conclusion, or the point to be reached, before the amplification ; " inductive," i.e. the leading up from particulars to a conclusion ? (For various types of one element, paragraph, see the excellent analysis in Scott and Denney's Paragraph-Writing. For our purposes, the names are of no special importance ; it is sufficient if a student learns to recognize in an essay a certain method and type of structure.) Bibliography of Structure 243 2. Do you notice any close binding together of paragraphs as indicated by the explicitness of the transitions ? Do you note many sentences which seem to you to fulfil no other purpose than to lead from one idea to another? Do any entire paragraphs seem to subserve no other function than this, or to be introduced merely for illustration? 3. What can you say about the unity of the paragraphs? Do you note any ideas which do not seem to bear on the main thought? What of the emphasis ? Are the ideas clearly brought out? What of the coherence ? Do you note any ideas which seem to be un- connected? (For a fuller discussion of these terms, see Rhetoric, Chap. X.) II. On the excellence of the structure : 1. Of the essays printed in this volume, which seems to you to have the clearest structure? In which, allowing for the length, can you most easily follow the thought ? 2. Do you thinic that, in any of the foregoing essays, a method other than that used could have been employed with better results ? 3. Which essay seems to you the most interesting? Which the most weighty as regards matter? 4. Do any parts of any of the preceding essays appear to you unnecessary or unconnected with the subject of the essay? BIBLIOGRAPHY OF STRUCTURE In addition to the references to Carpenter's Exercises in Rhetoric and English Composition, the student will find the following refer- ences to the more modern treatises on Rhetoric helpful in giving collateral information about structure. A. On the method or kind of composition : Baldwin, C. S. Specimens of Prose Description. New York (Holt), 1895. Introduction. Fletcher, J. B., and Carpenter, 6. R. Introduction to Theme- Writing. Boston (AUyn and Bacon), 1893. pp. 2-4 and 64-109. Genung, J. F. The Practical Elements of Rhetoric. Boston (Ginn), 1894. pp. 326-474. 244 Notes Hill, A. S. The Principles of Rhetoric (revised edition). New York (Harper's), 1895. pp. 247-400. Lamont, H. Specimens of Exposition (second edition). New York (Holt), 1896. Introduction. McElroy, J. G. R. The Structure of English Prose. New York (Armstrong), 1890. pp. 281-327. (Note. — The classifications of McElroy, though suggestive, are somewhat too subtle and should be accepted with caution.) B. On the structure of the composition : Baker, G. P. The Principles of Argumentation. Boston (Ginn), 1895. pp. 269-342. Genung, J. F. The Practical Elements of Rhetoric. Boston (Ginn), 1894. pp. 248-300. Hill, A. S. The Principles of Rhetoric (revised edition). New York (Harper's), 1895. pp. 239-246. Wendell, Barrett. English Composition. New York (Scribner's), 1893. pp. 150-192. C. On the principles and types of structure in paragraphs : Hill, A. S. The Foundations of Rhetoric. New York (Harper's), 1892. pp. 305-325- Hill, A. S. The Principles of Rhetoric (revised edition). New York (Harper's), 1895. pp. 230-238. Lewis, E. H. The History of the English Paragraph. Chicago (The University of Chicago Press), 1894. Particularly pp. 20-33. Scott, F. N., and Denney, J. V. Paragraph-Writing. Boston (Allyn and Bacon), 1893. Wendell, Barrett. English Composition. New York (Scribner's), 1893. pp. I 14-149. NOTES ON THE STYLE OF THE FORE- GOING ESSAYS In our study of structure we have seen three things, (i) the architectural plan, so to speak, of the thought, (2) the methods by which the thought is fitly framed and joined together into a whole, and (3), as a larger problem following these two, the fitness of the structure, thus planned and articulated, to meet the con- ditions, both of purpose and of circumstance, imposed upon the author. Hence, whatever element of composition — the word, the sentence, or the paragraph — has had a place in showing the rela- tion of idea to idea, has been an object of our previous analysis. In the following studies we are to deal with the material from a new point of view — that of style. This study is more difficult than that of structure, since style is in its effects more subtile and elusive. Thus, style has been variously characterized : Swift called it,;' Proper words in proper places"; Buffon said, "Le style, c'est I'homme '' ; Arnold had it, " Style, in my sense of the word, is a peculiar recast- ing and heightening, under certain conditions of spiritual excitement, of what a man has to say, in such a manner as to add dignity and dis- tinction to it " ; and these are but a few of even the eminent phrases - that have attempted to define the word. De Quincey, Spencer, Pater, Stevenson, Symonds, and a host of well-known men, besides many rhetoricians,! have all expounded their ideas on the subject, and these have not agreed in all respects. It behooves us, then, to formulate an approximate definition for the word, ^ working definition rather than a philosophical one ; and this, for our present purposes, we may 1 For a fuUei list of references see Bibliography of Style, p. 279. 245 246 Notes state as follows : Style is the peculiar turn which a writer gives to his expression of an idea. The definition is vague ; but a study of style, according to its terms, implies several things which are to our purpose. In the first place, it necessitates a study of the technique of each selection in so far as the expression is peculiar; that is, of its words — their choice, number, and the like ; of its sentences — their length, form, compo- sition, and the like ; and, so far as may be advisable, of the larger units. These larger units, paragraphs and sections, are, however, chiefly structural in value ; and, moreover, since style can be seen almost as well in one page as in twenty, these larger units are chiefly useful for comparison with one another and as examples of the same phenomena often repeated. In the second place, the definition im- plies a study of the appropriateness of the style to the end which the author had in view ; that is, after we have seen the end which the author had in view, we try to determine the fitness of the style to that end. Lastly, as a corollary to these studies, the definition may imply that we should gather some impressions concerning the author's individual way of looking at things, that is, of his personality. This order of procedure would be natural in carrying on our study of style. Since, however, the preceding study of structure has given us not only an idea of the thought plan, but — as could hardly help being the case — an impression, also, of the effect of the style, we may, as a matter of practice, proceed rather more directly to work than our definition, rigidly carried out, would allow. It will be suf- ficient, then, simply to single out those qualities of the words and sentences which contribute largely to the total effect of the style ; that is, the commonest and most frequently recurring characteristics of the style. Exceptional details and the suggestion of the author's personality will be hinted at only in a general way, and chiefly as they challenge comparison with the style of other authors. I. THE DEFEAT OF THE SPANISH ARMADA I. Purpose of the Style. — Force is undoubtedly the chief qual- ity of Fronde's style as we see it in the narrative of the defeat of the Armada. In our previous study of the selection we saw that the structure of the piece as a whole was even and straightforward. The Defeat of the Spanish Armada 247 tut that some details were out of place, or not well proportioned to the whole, or not clear. In spite of these defects, no one would question the power of Froude's narrative ; it is so vigorous, indeed, that, though done on a large scale, it hurries a reader over the defects of structure, and leaves with him a strong impression of strength. This quality of force, this power to hold the reader's attention, is due to the style of the narrative, principally to the words, but also to the sentences ; and it is our object to show by what handling of word and sentence this effect is produced. II. Technique of the Style. — A. Words. — The first and most obvious characteristic of Froude's vocabulary is its specificness. This is manifest in several ways, but chiefly in the verbs and the nouns. Froude rarely contents himself with a verb which does not single out the particular act ; and since the verb is typically the part of speech for narration, the value of the verbs to the narrative can hardly be over-estimated. Page 21 furnishes convenient and typi- cal cases of this : the Spanish vessels " swept on " (3) ; the English at once "weighed" (11) ; Sidonia saw sails "passing" (20) vaguely and appropriately, for there was not enough light " to measure his enemy's strength" (19) ; the English "glided out" (28), and "were hovering " (29) not near by but " at their rear just out of cannon-shot " (29). So, too, to take a few isolated cases of various sorts, we have "rushed" (2, 26) instead of the more general "came"; a mast or two had been "sprung," a few yards and bowsprits had been "carried away" (14, 21-23) \ the boat "shot away" (17, 21) ; the privateers were "warped out" (20, 5); the Armada "made sail" (22, 3); the Capitana "struck" her flag (25, 15); Sidonia "dis- patched" a letter to Parma (27, 21) ; young lords and gentlemen came "streaming" in every smack or sloop that they could "lay hold of," to "snatch" their share of danger and glory at Howard's side (30, 21-24); the Ark RaleigKs rudder was "unshipped" (32, 18; (/. the verbs throughout the paragraph); the English balls "ripped" through the oak (33, 12); the Flemish pilots " slipped " overboard, " stole " the cock-boats, " set " their shirts for sails, and "made for" Flushing (38, 16); and numerous other instances. A great many of these verbs are, of course, specific nautical terms. Many, too, are originally of figurative value and have not wholly lost their metaphorical turn. Thus we have such verbs as " crept 248 Notes back" (15, 24), "culled" (16, i), "flew" (19, 3), "flocking" (5), "wringing" (27, 8), "plunged" (33, 21), "clung" (40, 13), "promised" (42, 12), "leaping" (21), "swarmed" (44, 26), "pour" (47, 2), "reeling" (48, 9), and many other instances of equally inconspicuous single-word metaphors. Again, some of these specific verbs are of much homeliness and idiomatic vigour. Thus we find " breaking each other's heads upon the quays" (3, 4), "the different squadrons huddled together" (24, 21), "Palmer proposed to . . . fetch over some worthless hulks" (41, 25), "probably pitching them into the sea" (45, 19), and other such homely phrases. The nouns are no less specific than the verbs, but, since the verb is for narration the most important part of speech, they are perhaps less significant. We find that Froude prefers to use several specific nouns where one or two general words might have answered the purpose. Examples of this are common enough : we are told not that there were many cannon, the finest that could be had, but that there were " two thousand four hundred and thirty, ... of brass and iron of various sizes, the finest that the Spanish foundries could produce" (4, 17), and not that these were more powerful than the English, but that " the weight of metal which they were able to throw exceeded enormously the power of the English broadsides" (20). So, too, Don Alonzo's family had not merely fought against pirates ; they " had for several generations been the terror of Mediterranean corsairs" (6, 23). So, too, in places somewhat aside from the main track of the narrative, we learn that the Dutch supplied the Spanish " with salt herrings for their fasting days, and brought to Lisbon from the Baltic the hemp and tar with which the Armada itself had been fitted out" (7, 21); and that in Flanders Parma was not merely ready, but : " the quays of Nieuport and Dunkirk were thronged with hoys and barges. The cavalry horses were stabled in the towns ready to embark ; the troops encamped in the immediate environs. Artillery stores, platforms, crates, pioneers' tools were already on board" (8, 15). Closely akin in effect to these specific and definite words and making toward the same end of vividness and vigour is Froude's use of proper names and quotations. The usefulness of the former as a matter of style is to give colour and life to a passage. Notable instances occur in pages 2, 17-28; 6, i-7, 7; 30, 17-21 ; 41, 14- The Defeat of the Spanish Armada 249 18; and many other places in which names are accumulated. The best-known instance of the same sort in the literature of the century is probably Macaulay's description of the scene at the trial of Warren Hastings, in the paragraph beginning, " The place was worthy of such a trial." (C/. Rhetoric, pp. 117-119.) As regards the quotations, their function in heightening the effect of the style probably comes from the fact that they tend to take the reader back to the actual time of conflict, to serve the purpose, so to speak, of the historical present tense by representing the scene as if it were taking place. This effect is obvious enough in the larger pieces of quotation, such as paragraph XI. and of Sidonia's letter to Parma (XLI.), but it is also to be seen in such smaller bits as 23, 12, 13 ; 31, ig-21 ; 37, 21, 22 ; 39, 23 ; and others. The same general effect is the indirect discourse of IX., X., XLVIL, and the like. Compare also the sarcasm of such phrases as " the long-suf- fering and sweet and fatherly forbearance of the chief shepherd of the Church" (11, 23). Fronde's figures of speech, perhaps, gain their effects from this same power of reproducing, so to speak, the thought of the time. In general, Fronde's figures, aside from those contained in his specific and single-word metaphors, are not numerous, but they are often aptly used. Thus, "like ravens to the spoil of the heretics " (2, 17) and " as at the call of an archangel " (27) give the point of view of the invaders. Froude also uses some common synecdoche and metonymy ; and the virulence of the transcription of the Cardinal's proclamation (IX., X., XI.) is in part due to the personification, placed in strong emphasis, of such words as " Vengeance " (10, 2) and "Ruin" (3), as well as to the strong metaphors "scum and filth of mankind" (10, 24), and the like. The student must have been struck by the largeness of Froude's vocabulary. It is rare that, aside from auxiliary and connective words, he uses the same word twice in one paragraph, as " flew " (19, 3, 22) and "broke" (24, 26, 25, i). In respect to copious- ness, variety, and readiness Froude is excelled by no historian of the century, not even by Macaulay. This fact means that he has at command whatever word he wants to use. The variety of words prevents dulness, just as the specific nouns give the narrative its colour and the specific verbs its vitality of movement. One or two blemishes should be noted in passing. Froude, 250 Notes apparently in his eagerness for specific words and large variety, introduces such superfluous words as " chosen" in the phrase "culled and chosen" (16, i), and is guilty of bad order, as in "flurried and surprised" (23, 14), where we should more naturally expect "surprised and flurried." These, however, are minor points and are hardly to our main purpose — to find out how Froude obtains his vigour. B. Sentences. — The most notable quality of Froude's sentences contributing to the vigour of his narrative is the amount of sim- ple, direct statement which they contain. Thus each of the first five sentences of I. is simple and declarative, and the length is short (15.6 words average) ; and the remainder of the paragraph is not very different in effect. Other of the many examples are XXXI., XXXII., XL., and XLIX., in which, with the exception of the last, the average sentence length is less than twenty words and of the last only 23.50. In many other paragraphs, the average sentence length of which is considerably greater than that of these and of the entire selection (24.58), the effect is not very notably different. Thus in VIII. the average length of the four sentences is 29.25, but there are three "ands," which make three compound sentences and a total, therefore, of seven distinct co-ordinate statements. So, too, the greater sen- tence length of XXI. (48), XXXVII. (48.43), XXXIX. (42.6), and others is to be accounted for, in a large measure, by the frequent use of the conjunctions " and " and, sometimes, " but." These con- junctions, of course, dull, so to speak, the edge of a sentence and make the movement less rapid, but the sentences conform to the usual declarative type. The effect of the sentence is often heightened in other ways akin to this. Chief among these is the similarity of the beginning of many. Thus in IV. all the sentences but the fifth begin with " The . . . was " or a simple declarative formula. The same sort of formula is to be seen in V., VI., XVII., especially XXXIV., XLI., XLV., LI., LIIL, LV., and LVII. Again, in many of the para- graphs just referred to, the emphasis is strongly marked, and other paragraphs in which we find strongly emphasized sentences are VII., XXXVIII., and XLIII. Again, the effect is occasionally heightened by the balance, which may be regarded as a more deliberate handling of the parallel sentences which we have before The Defeat of the Spanish Armada 251 noted. II., especially the last sentence (3, 20), and IX., contain good examples of this, but the instances of carefully wrought balance are not numerous. Paragraphs X. and XI. furnish good examples, by way of contrast, of the effect that may be produced by sentences. X. contains six sentences with an average length of 40.16 words. XL, excluding the subscription, contains twenty-five, with an average of 15.72 words. X. contains ten main predications, or only two sentences with one subject and one predicate; XI. contains twenty-eight clauses of equivalent value, or as many as twenty-two sentences with only one predicate. The emphasis of the words in the sen- tences of the two paragraphs is not very different ; in both it is strong. The effect, however, of X. is totally unlike that of XI. ; X. is rather slow and deliberate; XI. is choppy and virulent ; and this difference is chiefly due to the length of the sentences. The latter paragraph, though not narrative, shows the value, for strength, of short, vigorous sentences. Since Froude's sentences incline to the type and mould of the second paragraph rather than that of the first, we may s^y that to the amount of simple statement and the strong emphasis the speed of Froude's style is due, just as his vividness is the result of his wording. There are some possible defects which can hardly be passed over without comment. Froude too often lapses into clumsily loose sentences. We have seen the effect for rapidity of narrative of the short, vigorously emphasized sentences ; and when these are peri- odic, as in the first three sentences of I., or only naturally and moderately loose, as in the remaining sentences of that paragraph, the effect is strengthened. And it does not detract from the vigour of Froude's narrative to find that in a characteristic passage, such as the last three paragraphs, there is, in twenty-four sentences, of which nine are simple declarative sentences, only one (46, 27) deliberately periodic ; for the order in all is natural. But such sentences, of which there are a number, as 4, 11 and 5, 12, and pos- sibly such as 42, 16, 43, 12, and 47, 3, through undue looseness, mar the force of the style for narrative. So, too, for exactly the opposite reason, such piled-up clause-heaps as 29, g, and 35, 5, are elements of weakness. Another fault lies in the connectives. Good as are these fre- quently recurring -'and's" and "but's" for giving the narrative its 252 Notes declarative effect and at the same time blunting the barb of too many simple sentences, they are sometimes too numerous. Good examples of this not uncommon fault occur in 30, 14-24. Some- times, too, the connectives are really inaccurate, as "and" in 18, 7, and possibly "but" in 6, 3. The method and quality of Froude's sentences may be more firmly fixed by a comparison between any characteristic passage from the selection and a paragraph from another great narrative historian of the century — Macaulay . A single paragraph is perhaps hardly an adequate amount of material to base comparisons on ; but since Macaulay shows little variation from a normal and fixed standard of sentence,^ certainly less than Froude, and since the following passage is characteristic of the author, it may be taken for comparison : "The battle [Plassey] commenced with a cannonade in which the artillery of the Nabob did scarcely any execution, while the few field-pieces of the English produced great effect. Several of the most distinguished officers in Surajah Dowlah's service fell. Dis- order began to spread through his ranks. His own terror increased every moment. One of the conspirators urged on him the expedi- ency of retreating. The insidious advice, agreeing as it did with what his own terrors suggested, was readily received. He ordered his army to fall back, and this order decided his fate. Clive snatched the moment, and ordered his troops to advance. The confused and dispirited multitude gave way before the onset of disciplined valour. No mob attacked by regular soldiers was ever more completely routed. The little band of Frenchmen, who alone ventured to confront the English, were swept down the stream of fugitives. In an hour the forces of Surajah Dowlah were dis- persed, never to reassemble. Only five hundred of the vanquished were slain. But their camp, their guns, their baggage, innumerable waggons, innumerable cattle, remained in the power of the con- querors. With the loss of twenty-two soldiers killed and fifty wounded, Clive had scattered an army of near sixty thousand men, and subdued an empire larger and more populous than Great Britain.'' — Lord Clive. 1 Cf. Sherman : Analytics of Literature, p. 359 ; and Lewis : The History of the English Paragraph, pp. 142-146. The Defeat of the Spanish Armada 253 Macaulay's paragraph obviously has better unity than almost any one of Froude's and is more evenly proportioned. The sentences, after the first, are conspicuously of more nearly equal length, and are more uniformly periodic. But it may be doubted whether, as a whole, they produce an effect of greater vigour ; for Froude certainly gains his power in a greater variety of ways, is less monotonous in his rhythm, and consequently thrusts his style less constantly upon the reader. Incidentally it should be noted that the vocabulary of the passage quoted is much less specific than that of Froude's narrative ; but the passage is done on a smaller scale. III. Summary and Suggestions. — Among the foregoing facts of Froude's style, the student should keep clearly before him the two chief elements which give it strength — the vividness of the wording and the simple forward movement of the sentences. For further exercise a student should, of course, verify these observations, search for more examples, and discover other peculiarities ; and he may fix his results more definitely by mathematically ascertaining the size of the vocabulary, the range and number of the connectives, the sentence-length, the percentage of simple sentences, the amount of predication, of periodic sentences, and the like. Such methods of analyzing style are, however, not specially apt in the present case : in general, they are too mechanical to satisfy the sense and feeling for style which a student should try to cultivate ; and Froude's style is so plain a thing that these methods are hardly necessary. Looking at the seven essays as a whole, we find the present selection a good point of departure for fixing in mind one or two obvious qualities of style. One or two questions about a larger subject may not be out of place. Does Froude seem to write hastily, with too much sure- ness, or undue ardour? Is he always scrupulous to state the truth, as, for example, when in 40, 23 he conveys a slightly different effect from that of his quotation of the letter from Howard to Walsing- ham (footnote 46)? Is the large amount of predication in Froude, compared with contemporary writers, due to his falling into the manner of sixteenth-century chroniclers, from whom he took much of his material? 254 ^otes II. PERSONAL EXPERIENCE AND REVIEW I. Purpose of the Style. — We have seen (p. 205) that Steven- son's purpose is to present a few of his observations and impressions during a voyage across the Atlantic Ocean. The events are common- place enough, they have nothing of the largeness which characterizes Froude's narrative ; and hence one can hardly look for a style of great brilliance. Simplicity, absence of ornateness and pomposity, one would say, are the effects to look for in the style, as we have seen them to be the characteristics of the structure. As a matter of im- pression, these are the qualities which one finds most constant, and with them some impression of deliberateness, much freshness, and a good deal of individuality. Since these qualities are more subtile than the quahties of Froude's style, the analysis of them will be cor- respondingly more complicated. II. Technique of the Essay. — A. Words. — Perhaps the most constant quality of the vocabulary is simplicity. This is so common that specific instances need hardly be given, but 50, 19-24, 52, 21-25, 58, 1-5, to choose at random, are cases in point. As a mat- ter of simple mathematics, the present selection is the only one in the volume which contains more than nine words per line (9.19). Next to this is The Crown of Wild Olive (8.95) ; and the other extreme is The Strength of American Democracy (8.29). Less sig- nificant is the fact that the essay contains about eighteen per cent of foreign words : two pages chosen at random, one from the first half (54), the other from the last half of the chapter (60), contain in 543 words (counting as two such compounds as "fellow-passenger'' and omitting proper names), 108 or 18.05 per cent of foreign ori- gin. For the general effect of short native words, see Rhetoric, pp. 63 and 67-70. This simplicity appears at times to be studied ; Stevenson seems to choose his words with considerable deliberation. The phenom- enon is manifest in several ways: (i) in plain homely phrasing, (2) in the pairing of words, (3) in new combinations of perfectly common words, which give the style an antique turn, and (4) in deliberate oddness of phrasing. Of the first of these good exam- ples are : " I found that I had what they call fallen in life " (49, 9), " To the saloon passengers also I sustained my part without a hitch " Personal Experience and Review 255 (51, i), "my humble rig" (17), "as the talk went on" (52, 19), " I do not hear enough, in economy books, of pies and pudding " (63, 9), and many other like instances, which are apt, because numerous and not specially striking. More noticeable is Stevenson's trick of pairing words. The num- ber of instances is great in which he uses two nouns or adjectives where one would ordinarily, and in another writer, have answered. Cases of this doubling are "success and verisimilitude" (49, 10), "readily and naturally" (50, 6), "character and experience" (17), "a certain shock of surprise and a sense of something wanting" (51, 18), "familiarity and breadth of humorous intention" (53, 7), "jeered and flouted" (22), "lightly and naturally" (28), "gentle and becoming" (54, 22), "relation and grade of society " (55, 26), "refreshed and solemn" (57, 10), "necessity and nature" (62,22), and the like. The habit is so persistent that when we come across a triplication of words, such as "improvident and idle and debauched" (58, 18), we at once notice the unusual combination. The third point, new combinations of common words, with a slightly antique turn, is rather more subtile. Several of the fore- going citations, such as " familiarity and breadth of humorous in- tention " and " refreshed and solemn," illustrate this point. Other cases are : " there was no recognition in their eye, although I con- fess I sometimes courted it in silence" (51, 4), "a mere common, human man" (7), "the well-regulated female eye" (52, 3), "an elderly managing woman hailed me with counsels" (17), "ambi- tious hope" (54, 29), "my habit of a different society " (55, 2), and the like. In the same category are to be placed such common words as " pre-occupied " (54, 11), "currency" (55, 30), "effrontery" (60, 6), in which the original source and meaning of the word combine with the common meaning to give it distinction. So Stevenson, with nearer approach to a pun, says in Across the Plains, " The two withdrew to the bar, where I presume the debt was liquidated." 1 The fourth point, deliberate oddness of phrasing, is less impor- tant. One gets hints of it in every paragraph, and it is noticeable in such lines as "full to the brim of molasses" (54, 8), "by conse- quence "(57, 23; compare "in consequence," 59, 15, 23), "verg- 1 Cited by Professor Walter Raleigh : Jioiert Louis Stevenson, p. 36. 256 Notes ing to its lowest terms" (64, 9), instead of "verging on" or " toward." More striking are, of course, " out of myself in diet, associates, and consideration" (49, 5), "absolute success and veri- similitude" (10), and one or two other phrases, in which Stevenson has pushed his practice so far as to render his meaning obscure. These characteristics may be seen in compact space in para- graph XIV. Note such phrases as "broken bones" (60, 11), instead of the more common and more specific " broken legs " or " broken arms " ; " engaged upon a roof" (i6) instead of " engaged in working upon a roof " ; " taken with a fancy for the public house " (17); "advertised of their defection" (22); "the career of the tapper" (22), an apt word here; "industrious bustle" (24); "earned his money in the sweat of his brow" (28); " sexduplicate his single personality " (30), a coinage of Stevenson's ( ?) ; " swell and hasten his blows" (30); and the remainder of the sentence. From the point of view of freshness and individuality, compare the following passage, in which the significant words have been italicised : " Our American sunrise had ushered in a noble summer's day. There was not a cloud ; the sunshine was baking ; yet in the woody river valleys among which we wound our way, the atmosphere pre- served a sparkling freshness till late in the afternoon. It had an inland sweetness and variety to one newly from the sea ; it smelt of woods, rivers, and the delved earth. These, though in so far a country, were airs from hotne. I stood on the platform by the hour ; and as I saw, one after another, pleasant villages, carts upon the highway, and fishers by the stream, and heard cockcrows and cheery voices in the distance, and beheld the sun, no longer shining blankly on the plains of the ocean, but striking among shapely hills and his light dispersed and coloured by a thousand accidents of form and surface, I began to exult with myself upon this rise in life like a man who had come into a rich estate. And when I had asked the name of a river from the brakesman, and heard that it was called the Susquehanna, the beauty of the name seemed to be part and parcel of the beauty of the land. As when Adam with divine fitness named the creatures, so this word Susquehanna was at once accepted by the fancy. That was the name, as no other could be, for that shining river and desirable valley.''^ — Stevenson : Across the Plains.^ (p. 10, Scribner's, 1895). Personal Experience and Review 257 In this connection compare Stevenson's own statement of his practice : " . . . I always Icept two boolcs in my pocket, one to read, one to write in. As I walked, my mind was busy fitting what I saw with appropriate words ; when I sat by the roadside, 1 would either read, or a pencil and penny version-book would be in my hand, to note down the features of the scene or to commemorate some halting stanzas.'' — A College Magazine, I. B. Sentences. — Certain of these qualities — simplicity, deliberate- ness, and the antique touch — are due also to the sentences. In these the most notable fact is the use of " and " (or " but ") after a strong pause — a colon, or a semicolon. Thus, in the first two paragraphs, which together contain eleven sentences, six (49, i, 3, and 50, 2, 12, 22, 28) contain this construction, and there is one case (50, 7) of the same construction after a comma. In the rest of the chapter the trick, though not so obtrusive, is obvious. The effect produced is one of slowness and deliberation ; the numerous simple or only slightly complex sentences thus made compound prevent any word from standing out with great abruptness. The same effect is pro- duced by such connectives as " for" (51, 17, 52, 6, etc.), and in com- binations of words, as " improvident and idle and debauched'" (58, 18), by the same connectives. There is no hurry ; each word, each phrase, each sentence, seems to be weighed and put carefully down. In general, it will be noted that the connectives are simple, few in number, and oft-repeated. A good example of all this is the notable fourteenth paragraph. Stevenson says not, " I give this story as it was told me for a fact," but, " I give the story as it was told me, and it was told me for a fact " ; not, "A man who fell from a housetop in the city of Aberdeen was brought into the hospital with broken bones," but "A man fell . . . and was brought . . . " ; not " When asked what vvas his trade, he replied that he was a tapper^'' but "He was asked . . . and replied . . ."; and so on. Sentences 6 (60, 18) and 10 (28) are examples of a less striking sort of the same effect. In contrast to this, it should be observed that whenever Stevenson wishes a more rapid movement, he drops his connective, as in line 14, and when subordination is unavoidable, as in 15, he returns to the more modern and logical construction ; indeed, these exceptions strengthen the effect of his usual practice by relieving monotony. The same effect of deliberation is probably due in part to a mod- s 2S8 Notes erately frequent redundancy in wording. Such words as "it ap- peared" (51, 20), "It was ... that" (52, 8), "as it seems to me" (58, 7), " It is . . . that" (59, 4), and the like, are perhaps logically unnecessary, but let them be stricken out of the essay, and the increased choppiness and briskness will be evident. This quality seems to suggest a desire on Stevenson's part to keep the emphasis from receiving any such great prominence as is fitting and effective in Froude's narrative. When we come across such short sentences as "The result was curious" (51, 13), "It must be a strange sight from an upper window" (61, 4), "They mark time instead of marching" (62, 11), the difference in incisiveness is very notice- able, as is the pomposity of such a sentence as "To be politically blind is no distinction" (58, 6). In this place it is interesting to note the evenness of length of Stevenson's sentences as they appear averaged by paragraphs. The figures for the eighteen paragraphs are: 23.66, 33.12, 19.50, 33.33, 22.33, 17, 20.33, 22.44, 25.37, 23.91, 45.20, 29, 24.20, 22.82, 18.22, 27.62, 30.60, 28.30, a total average of 25.28, from which only one paragraph, XI., shows marked variation. In no writer whom we consider in the present volume is there such uni- formity. Does the fact seem in keeping with the evenness of tone which Stevenson throughout preserves? III. Summary and Suggestions. — ■ The foregoing analysis shows the chief characteristics of Stevenson's style. The student would do well to test the results in other ways, of which the most signifi- cant would be the rewriting of one of Stevenson's paragraphs, with a change to more logical or commonplace arrangement of the sen- tences ; for the words can hardly be laid hands on. Mechanical tests are, of course, feasible ; and comparison with the technique of other authors will serve to define one's impressions. The present selection is valuable as a starting-point in the study of Stevenson's style. The quality is here more obvious, more con- stant, more easy of analysis, than that of many of Stevenson's better known essays and causeries, such as The English Admirals and The Lantern-Bearers . In these essays many of the same phenomena which we have here observed, however, give to his style its peculiar tone ; but they are even more fine-drawn, more delicately poised, more evasive. Macaulay 259 III. MACAULAY I. Purpose of the Style. — We have seen (p. 210) the circum- stances under which Mr. Morley wrote the present essay, and the audience, the pubhc, whom he addressed ; and we have seen how, by means of his structure, he tried to make his hne of thought clear, and to force his meaning home. - We may accordingly regard the present essay as addressed to a rather better defined public than either of the two preceding. Our task is, then, chiefly to see how Mr. Morley handles the technique of style in order to make his ideas forcible and interesting to his readers. II. Technique of the Style. — A. Words. — The copiousness and range of Mr. Morley's vocabulary are obviously the qualities which first strike the reader. One must, from the outset, be sensible of the number of the words, the fulness of the diction, and the readi- ness with which it is applied. Specific instances to prove this need not be cited ; it is enough to say that the author rarely uses the same word, aside from the auxiliaries and connectives, -twice on a page. These qualities keep the essay from becoming dull and tiresome, but they demand more minute analysis. We shall find, then, that the principal sources of power in the vocabulary are reducible to the following five heads, which are arranged in order of importance : (i) the splitting of an idea into certain component parts with as much specificness of treatment as the general nature of the essay will allow — in other words, the quasi-descriptive colouring given to an idea ; (2) figures of speech and illustration ; (3) the large number of paired words ; (4) the accuracy of use and double value of words ; (5) quotation. Certain of these good qualities are not infrequently pushed to excess and detract from the permanent value of the style. I . Throughout the essay the amplification by the specifying of several ideas instead of one more general idea is evident. Thus at the start we are told not that Strafford would formulate some notion " of the ideas that he already had on the subject of the book,'' etc., but that " he would call for a sheet of paper, and then proceed to write down upon it some sketch of the ideas ..." (65, 12); and 66, 10-13, is another example in point. So, too, we are told to "ask ourselves " not what place Macaulay has in English literature, but 26o Notes " to what place he has a claim among the forces of English litera- ture " (66, 1 8). Better examples are 69, 3-6 ; 82, 2-5 ; 83, 22-27 ; 87, 14-25. A student should look with care through the essay to note the number and variety of such phrases. Do they, in general, seem to add to the picturesqueness of the essay and hence to its force ? Compare the effect with a similar one in Froude. Are there noticeable also, as closely akin in effect to these longer quotations, many instances of single specific words ? Compare, in the passage last referred to, " blue foolscap," " periods," "sentences," " phrases," and the single-word metaphors, " buried," " scouring," " dashing," " barbing " ; and in general, such phrases as " the ninety volumes of Voltaire " (67, 18), " threshold " (68, 3), " the four magic strings " (96, 29). 2. It is hard in many of the foregoing cases to distinguish the line at which literal specificness passes over into the region of tropes. The figures of speech and the companion illustrations in the essay are very abundant. To take of this class the phenomena which we first meet — illustration. At the very start it is seen in the quota- tion from Gibbon and the example of Strafford ; the position is seductive. More striking, perhaps the most striking illustration in the entire essay, is the " imaginary case of banishment to a desert island" (67, 4), and the following out of that to the bottom of the page, and its continuation in the experience of the Australian traveller. Other good examples — they are too long to quote — are 83, 18-22 ; 84, 4-7 ; 85, 16-20. It is important to determine what part these play in the essay. Are they necessary for clearness or are they used entirely for force? The figures of speech proper are obviously very numerous. These may be roughly divided into two classes — the long-sustained meta- phors and similes, and the short single-word metaphors. A good example of the first sort is, " with as few notes in his register, to borrow a phrase from the language of vocal compass, as there are few notes, though they are very loud, in the register of his written prose " (85, 9), and other cases are 77, 25-30; 84, 7-14; 87, 25-30; 96, 25-30; 106, i-io. Examples of the simple, short metaphors are "refreshment" (67, 7), "tempered phrases" (71, 15), "distinct literary force" (72, 10), "shining words and many-coloured com- plexities" (78, 10), "the poise of truth" (91, 13), "scolding pre- cision" (93, 10), "stamping emphasis" (100, 12); and there are Macaulay 261 many others which the student should look for. The number of these is very large ; to gain some idea of their significance one or two questions may be asked. Do you notice in the course of the essay any increase in the number of metaphors, both long and short? Do the longer figures seem to be used to render a passage clear, or for the sake of force? Is the same observation true of the shorter figures? Do any of the metaphors seem old, worn, and, so to speak, crystallized? Does the eifect of the metaphors on the style of the whole essay come the more from the vividness of individual words or from the large number? Do you notice, as in XXIII., any super- fluity of figurative language, or any incongruity in the imagery? Has Mr. Morley, to use his own words, been " betrayed into " too many phrases " of happy improvisation "? Compare, from the same point of view, the following passage from the same pen : "... Robespierre's style had no richness either of feeling or of phrase ; no fervid originality, no happy violences. If we turn from a pa^e of Rousseau to a page of Robespierre, we feel that the disci- ple has none of the thrilling sonorousness of the master ; the glow and the ardour have become metallic ; the long-drawn plangency is parodied by shrill notes of splenetic complaint. The rhythm has no broad wings ; the phrases have no quality of radiance ; the ora- torical glimpses never lift the spirit into new worlds. We are never conscious of those great pulses of strong emotion that shake and vibrate through the nobly measured periods of Cicero or Bossuet or Burke. . . ." — Robespierre {Critical Miscellanies, \.-^. ^'i'). 3. We have previously seen (p. 255), in dealing with Stevenson's style, the effect of the pairing of words. The same practice is to be seen here: "clearness and reality" (66, 6), "a right place and an independent shape " (7), " significance or value " (16), " a depressed and dolorous spirit" (67, 14), "power and vigour" (70, 18), "unc- tion and edification" (7l', 21), and many others, are cases where one word might have answered the purposes. It is obvious that the doubling of words greatly increases the size of the vocabulary. In the present essay, however, is this doubling less characteristic than with Stevenson? In other words, when three or four words are used, are you sensible of any great departure from the prevailing " type and mould " of diction ? Is the effect produced by pairing in any way similar to that of the phenomena which we have ob- served under i (p. 259) ? 262 Notes 4. What has been said under the three foregoing heads may prejudice a reader in the belief that Mr. Morley uses words with readiness and haste rather than accuracy, and such words as " cher- ished and held" (86, i), "size" (13), "perspective," "momentum" and "edification" (14) may confirm that opinion. Yet the words are often chosen with a sense for value and are more than mere conventions; "momentous" (67, 9), "substantive and organic" (70, 14), " accident " (71, 9), "assiduous " (26), " essentially " (91, 8), are cases in point. In each case, what is the exact force of the word ? 5. It is hardly necessary to call attention specifically to the amount of direct quotation which Mr. Morley employs. We have seen the same phenomenon in Froude. Under this head, however, is included those unacknowledged quotations, — characteristic, as we shall see later on, of Mr. Ruskin's style, — which are really common property. Compare with "thrice and four times enviable panegyric " (73, 10) the lines from Macaulay's Horaiius, " And thrice and four times tugged amain Ere he wrenched out the steel," and with "dreamt of in his professed philosophy" (81, 10), Hamlet I. V. 167 {Globe Edition). The fact that Mr. Morley takes from Macaulay's History a long passage has already been referred to (83, footnote 1 1) ^ As usual, the point to determine Is this : — What effect have these passages, and passages such as these, on the vivid- ness and picturesqueness of the style ? Are they likely to catch a reader's attention ? A word must be added in regard to some of the defects , of Mr. Morley's vocabulary. These defects spring out of the good qualities and are the excess of them. Thus, as we have seen, the copious- ness and fluency of the figurative language is often too exuberant, often degenerates into mixed metaphor. Less conspicuous, but still evident, are other defects which we have touched on, (i) the lack of simplicity and the consequent obscurity, (2) some redun- dancy, and (3) a good deal of stereotyping of phrase. These defects need not, however, be analyzed in detail ; for the purpose here has been to see how Mr. Morley gains the very evident effect which he produces — the power to hold a reader and to ward off tediousness — and this, as we have seen, is, in a large measure, due to the range, variety, spontaneity, and allusiveness of his vocabulary. Macaulay 263 B. Sentences. — The sentences are of less significance than the words, but several points need to be noted. Comparing them with those of Froude and Stevenson, one feels the fulness of the word- ing ; and as a matter of fact the average length of sentence is nine or ten words greater than in either of the preceding essays (34-68 as against 24.58 and 25.28, respectively). This greater length arises, no doubt, from the large number of doubled and parallel words ; but it is sometimes due to pleonasm pure and simple. An example of this is the second sentence (65, 11), whi,ch could have been shortened by twenty-three words, with little loss to the mean- ing, as follows : " [It is also told of] Strafford [that] before reading any book [for the first time, he] would [call for a sheet of paper, and then proceed to] write down [upon it] some sketch of the ideas that he already had upon the subject of the book, and of the questions that he expected to find answered." The pleonasm, in this instance, may be warranted on the ground of picturesqueness, which, we have seen, is one of Mr. Morley's aims. Can it also be explained by the desire on Mr. Morley's part to lead on his reader, by a leisurely opening, to the more important parts of the essay? In determining this point, is the fact that the average sentence length (51.66) of the paragraph is greater than that in any para- graphs, except XVII. (61) and XXVI. (54.44), in any way signifi- cant? Are any other cases of redundancy to be explained on similar grounds? Keeping closely, however, to the purpose of our examination of the sentences — their effect in warding off tediousness and mo- notony — we, may pursue the analysis under four heads: (i) the variety in form of the sentences ; (2) their balance ; (3) the swing and cadence ; and (4) the compactness and emphasis. 1. The variety is obvious. In dealing with Froude and Stevenson, we have seen a recurring simplicity and similarity in sentence structure, but such is not the case here. This variety may be brought out by tlie following questions: Are there, on any one page, two sentences, with the exception of such simple sentences as 92, 8, 9, which are built on the same plan ? Can you say, as was possible with Froude and Stevenson, that there is a prevailing type of sentence ? 2. The number of balanced sentences {cf. Rhetoric, pp. 108, 109) is large. We have seen in the structure of the essay (cf. p. 221, 264 Notes note to 91, XXI., 12) that Mr. Morley frequently moves his para- graphs by a series of antitheses ; and the pairing of words hints at a pleasure, on his part, in parallels and contrasts. Examples of the bal- anced sentences are 66, 3 ; 67, 9, 14 ; 68, 12 ; 72, 25, 29 ; and 78, 19 ; and 69, 24, may be taken as an illustration for analysis. There are three parallel members each beginning with " if." In each of these Mill is placed in antithesis with Macaulay, who, being for the present purpose the more important man, is put in the main clause. The balance of word with word may be thus pointed out : I. First clause — Mill Second clause — Macaulay {subordinate) {principal') 1 . taught 2. some of them i'. 2'. tempted more of them 3. reason 3'- declaim I. I . Set an example I'. did much to encourage 2 (patience > \ tolerance ) 2'. oracular arrogance 3. fair examination of 3'- a rather too thrasonical hostile opinions complacency I. I. sowed ideas of I'. trained a taste for 2. great economic" 3. political 4. moral bearings of the forces of society. 2'. 3'- 4'. superficial particularities trivial circumstantialities of local colour all the paraphernalia of the pseudo-picturesque The example is rather exceptional ; but the points to b^ deter- mined by the student are how far the instance is in keeping with the style of the rest of the paragraph and the essay as a whole, and how the sentence is so varied as to keep the antitheses from edginess and monotony. 3. The subject-matter of XXV. and the quotations from Claren- don and Burke and that from Southey in the following paragraph suggest an inquiry into the rhythm and harmony of Mr. Morley's sentences. If we examine the three passages referred to,^ — and Mr. Morley has aptly chosen them to illustrate the principle on Macaulay 265 which he is insisting, — we shall find that the beauty of sound of Clarendon's prose comes, roughly speaking, from recurring pairs of harmonious words, each pair of which is usually preceded by an ad- jective and followed by a noun with "of" or "to," e.g. "of that primitive simplicity and integrity of life " (98, 2) ; that from Burke on parallel phrases and sentences of varying length ; that from Southey on the doubling and the parallelism both, to say nothing of the recurrence of the same sound. It is worth while to see if the ready and frequent doubling of phrases in the present essay — that characteristic trick — give like effects. Almost any paragraph is good as an example, but in XIV. the swing of the sentence is par- ticularly noticeable. The most ready test to apply is to read a few sentences aloud to note whether they read with smoothness and variety. Another' test is to destroy the pairing of the words to ascertain if the passages sound so smoothly as at present. 4. Lastly, in regard to the emphasis of the sentences {cf. Rhetoric, pp. 139-142), the student should note whether the words at the beginning and the end of each sentence serve not only to show the connection of thought, but also to throw the idea into sharp relief. Take 67 as an example : are " That Macaulay comes " (i), " is quite certain" (3), "whom" (8), "momentous post" (9), "clearly" (9), "Englishmen" (14), "Germans" (16), "a sensible Frenchman" (17), "Shakespeare" (16), "Goethe" (17), "Voltaire" (18), "two authors" (21), "popular preference" (22), the important words? Should not "the object of a second choice " (19) be exhumed from the middle of the sentence? Or, again, spread out such a sentence as 66, 19-23, into four simple declarative sentences, and note the loss to compactness and proportion. Note, too, in the last exam- ple, the empha.sis of the clause " It is seventeen years since he died." What would have been the effect had the clause been made subordinate with, say, " since " ? The student should examine other parts of the essay from this point of view. III. Summary and Suggestions. — A student might do well to test some of these results by process of figuring, to ascertain with juster sense the proportion which each of these causes bears to the result. Again, some of the defects of the style, which lie apart from the purpose of the present analysis, ought to be looked into to aid in determining questions as to the uses and limitations of such a style as Mr. Morley's, its fitness for certain conditions and kinds 266 Notes of material. Moreover, the fact that Mr. Morley, using for the whole essay an average of 27.02 per cent of foreign words (not including proper names and quotation), runs with some uniformity from 21.12 in I. to 33.78 in XX. and back to 26.40 in XXIX. might show an interesting fact with regard to Mr. Morley's men- tal and stylistic stride as he warms up to his work. These, how- ever, are suggestions for an advanced student ; for the beginner the object is, through a rough and not too minute analysis, to develop a feeling for style. IV. ON THE STUDY OF CELTIC LITERATURE I. Purpose of the Style. — The present selection may be treated rather more summarily than the three preceding essays, for the reasons that (i) a student, from his previous study, may be supposed able with greater ease to analyze style, and that (2) the similarity of Arnold's style to his structure is much closer than in any other essay that we have heretofore seen. Arnold made it his constant aim \cf. p. 224) to give his idea a clear treatment, a full treatment, and, above all, a treatment the fairness of which no one would dream of questioning; his chief motive was, in his own words, "a disinter- ested endeavour to learn and propagate the best that is known and thought in the world." One would expect, accordingly, to find Arnold's style notable for clearness, lucidity, and cautiousness ; and if, as a matter of impression, other qualities are present they may be disregarded in th<» following treatment. II. Technique of the Style. — A. Words. — Deliberate and careful selection and definiti n of words is the most obvious principle of Arnold's vocabulary. This is the main, the only vital point to con- sider ; questions of size of vocabulary, range, derivation, specificness, and the like may be left as understudies for the student to solve at his leisure. This care is shown in the following ways, which are stated not in the order of prominence biit as they follow from one another: (i) accuracy of denotation {cf. Rhetoric, p. 191) in all im- portant words, as in the nouns "race" (108, 2), "nations" (13), " contact and mixture " (19), the verbs " to oppose " (22), " to com- municate" (23), the adjectives "formed, marked, national, inefface- able" (21), the adverb "essentially" (111, 18), and the like; (2) the added sharpness of definition which each extra word gives, as On the Study of Celtic Literature 267 "grown and solidified" (108, 15), " deliberate wholesale extermina- tion " (111, 2), " laws, manners, language " (14. — Why the order ? Cf. 16 and 20) ; (3) the contrasts between words, as " plainness and homeliness'' (117, 12) with " beauty and distinction " (13) ; (4) the very frequent limiting and narrowing down , to exactness of the idea as by the phrases "even if proved" (108, 3), "indeed" (7), "at least" (9), "for Celt and Teuton," etc. (21) ; (5) the preparing for any unusual word or figure, as in " so to speak, underground lot " (111, 8), " in a word, science " (117, 8), and the like ; (6) the illus- tration, as in "France, for instance, and Italy" (109, 23) ; and (7), to which these are the prelude, the repetition of any phrases, once carefully chosen and narrowed down, such as " embryo " (108, 9, 1 5, etc.), "crystallized" (29, 30), and especially the longer and more important words and phrases round which each section and each paragraph revolve, as " energy with honesty " (116, 22), " senti- mental" (120, 21). Compare for the same eifect, more conspicu- ously wrought out, pages 228, 229, and 231-233 of the notes. One or two questions may, from a slightly different point of view, serve to show how Arnold strives constantly to keep the style from obscurity. Do you note, in the selection, many figures of speech, either long or short, as "embryo" {passim), "province" (110, 16), and the longer metaphor of 117, 9-1 1? Is the effect of these for force or for clearness? Do you note any descriptive treatment of ideas, as in Macaulay? Compare 108, 8-14; 117, 12-28; 118, 19- 120, 14 ; 124, 12-20 ; — should you say that there is, in these passages, any attempt to attain picturesqueness, or only, through illustration, clearness of idea? Do such small and homely words as "ousted" (109, 23), "clean gone" (113, 28), "out at elbows" (123, 20), "fetch a very wide circuit" (131, 16), occur in places where they can be not only clear but forcible as well ? B. Sentences . — Krno\6:% sentences are long; in this selection they average nearly forty-three words (42-93). This fact is not im- portant, for it merely shows that Arnold attempts to put a good deal into each sentence ; but it is important to see how this length comes about. Obviously it is not due to redundancy ; for we have seen that Arnold is very cautious in his choice of words and rarely introduces a word which does not add to his meaning. This length, one would say, is chiefly due to the number of limitations and repetitions; but closer analysis will show that it is due to 268 Notes the principle on which the sentences are built — the desire so to present each unit of thought that (i) it can be grasped by itself and (2) can be shown in its relation to the preceding and follow- ing ideas. To gain these ends, unity and coherence, the form of sentence which Arnold most conspicuously adopts is made up of two (or sometimes three and four) members, the first of which states in rather general terms, chosen with reference to the preceding sen- tence, the idea of the sentence ; and the last of which repeats this idea in more specific words. This is really the same device which we have seen in the structure of the essay (p. 227). Take two sentences, 109, 4-18, as an example ; they may be expressed thus : (i) The contact between Saxon and Briton must have left traces; (i repeated) there must be some trace in uS of this meeting; (i specified) there must be some Celtic vein in us ; (2) many people say that there is nothing of the kind ; (2 specified) the Saturday Review says that it is vain to look for such traces. A better exam- ple is IX. {cf. Rhetoric, p. 135), in which nearly every sentence follows this type — two clauses separated by a Semicolon, with the connective dropped. It is as if Arnold took two sentences, the second specifying what the first had said in rather general terms, put these together, and inserted a semicolon to indicate the juncture. The unity of each sentence is excellent ; the idea can be grasped as a whole and in parts, and its connection with the main idea is always plain. The statement of this analysis should be tested by the student to see whether the type of sentence is constant ; such cases of " and " after a semicolon, as 109, 38, furnish tests by way of contrast. This unity is the main point. Another factor which contributes to clearness is Arnold's peculiar method of handling the emphasis of his sentences. Arnold delights in setting out his important idea, and then repeating it with its context. Already in dealing with structure (p. 230, note to 120, IX. 21), we have observed the same trick in the paragraphs ; Arnold places his emphatic word at the head of the paragraph, and develops the paragraph round that. 118, 18 is another instance : Arnold emphasizes his idea by setting out the head words of the quotation, " For dulness, the creeping Saxons^" and this he follows with the longer quotation to lead on to his next idea. Compare the following from Wordsworth ;"...' Duty The Strength of American Democracy 269 exists,' says Wordsworth, in the Excursion ; and then he proceeds thus — "... Immutably survive, For our support, the measures and the forms. Which an abstract Intelligence supplies. Whose kingdom is, where time and space are not." " The same method is employed in the sentence in 120, 21, already noted under the treatment of paragraphs, where the main idea is sin- gled out in the word " sentimental " and then repeated in other words ; and the same way of doing things is to be seen in the quotation from Renan (118, 25), the substance of which has already been made clear in the preceding sentence. In minor points the effect for em- phasis is to be noted in the repetition of a word and the suppression of the connective, as in "a Celtic element, a Germanic element" (116, 14), and "the Celtic genius, the Germanic genius" (15). These points, which are after all various aspects of the same principle, may be fixed by one or two questions from a different point of view : Do you notice any wide variation in sentence forms ? If so, do they exist for the sake of variety, as with Mr. Morley, or for clearness pure and simple? '^ Does a large proportion of the sentences seem periodic, and is the effect of the style as a whole periodic? Do the sentences read smoothly? III. Summary and Suggestions. — As has been said, Arnold's style has so many characteristics in common with his structure that the foregoing analysis has been short. One or two general tests, however, may be applied: it would be interesting to strike out Arnold's repetitions and connecting phrases, or, after rewriting one of his paragraphs on, say, Macaulay's plan, to note the gain in terseness and trenchancy and the loss in exactness. The fact, too, that few explanatory footnotes are necessary indicates the clearness of Arnold's work. V. THE STRENGTH OF AMERICAN DEMOCRACY I. Purpose of the Style. — We have before noted (p. 235) the clearness of structure of Mr. Bryce's chapter and the method by which that clearness is obtained. The questions, whether the style is also clear and by what method clearness is produced, are the objects of our present study. These may quickly be disposed of. 270 Notes II. Technique of the Style. — A. Words. — Answers to two ques- tions will fix the characteristics of the vocabulary in the student's mind: — Are there any words not clear and accurate in denotation or employed in unusual senses? Do you note any words or phrases which give peculiar distinction to the style ; i.e. is there any unusual specificness, as with Froude, or individuality, as with Stevenson, or range and variety, as with Mr. Morley, or cautious selection and repetition, as with Arnold? Questions of etymology and the lilie may be put aside for the student to answer at his leisure. B. Sentences. — The sentences require more care, but they also may be best treated by questions : — 1. Do the sentences conform to the loose or to the periodic type? If the loose, are the words still kept in a natural order and is there any difficulty in following the thought? Compare 137, 25, 27; 139, 3; 140, 18; 142, 25. Is this looseness ever a positive gain? Compare 144, 9, 147, 29. 2. The citations suggest the principles of emphasis, coherence, and unity. Is the looseness ever detrimental to the emphasis ; i.e. does Mr. Bryce often bury an important word by placing a loose clause after it ? Compare 138, 20, 23. Is the looseness ever an aid to coherence ? Compare the last example cited under i, and 136, 3, and 153, 4. In any of the examples cited would the unity be im- proved by brealcing the sentence or by rearranging it to avoid the loose construction ? 3. Regarding these qualities apart from looseness, how do they appear to you? Is the emphasis better at the beginning of sen- tences than at the end ? Compare " The Federal Constitution " (134, 3), "All over Europe" (6), "Even in England" (11), and theijke with the closing words of the sentences. Does this empha- sis, so to speak, mark out definitely the limits'~of each sentence both at the beginning and at the end ? Is the connection of each sentence with the preceding and the following sentences plain? Compare "Another" (134, 26). Are the connectives, both connective words and phrases, firmly used ? Is there great variety in them ? In these respects, compare the structure of the sentences with that of the paragraphs {cf. pp. 236, 237). 4. Do you note any lack of finer shades in the coherence and unity? Would it not have been better to say, instead of "which a Ring levies" (138, 15), "levied by a Ring," in order to keep the The Crown of Wild Olive 271 same subject throughout the sentence ? Should not " whose " (145, 6) be changed to "of which" for more accurate coherence? Does "which" (153, 12) introduce an idea apart from the sen- tence, and, if so, should not the articulation be diiferently made? Compare 136, 21. 5. Does the looseness which we have before noted ever lead to positive clumsiness and cumbrousness of style ? Compare 136, 6 ; 142, 3 ; 143, 23 ; 145, 5 ; and the like. Are these sentences hard to grasp entire? Is their lack of ease and force, if it exists, brought out by contrast with such balanced sentences as 142, 22, and 148, 27. 6. It may be interesting to note that Mr. Bryce's sentences are a trifle shorter than those of Mr. Morley (34. i S to 34. 68 for Macaulay) . What, then, is the difference in effect, and how, in any of the ways indicated above and on pp. 259 and 263, is this produced? III. Summary and Suggestions. — As the foregoing questions suggest, Mr. Bryce's si:yle is clear, plain, unadorned, without dis- tinction of word or phrase, but thoroughly useful for its purposes — to state a case clearly and directly, without prejudice, colouring, or superfluous unction. Hence it is fitting for a model : its simplicity and directness are wholesome ; its defects are so obvious and easy of eradication that a student may readily avoid them. VI. THE CROWN OF WILD OLIVE. I. Purpose of the Style. — The two selections which follow de- pend for their effect on a finer handling of style than we have noticed in any of the preceding essays. In the introduction to T/ie Crown of Wild Olive, one is impressed not only by the strength and earnestness of Ruskin's manner, but also by the elegance of rhythm and recurring sound, and the sympathetic modulation of phrase and sentence which renders an ordinary passage smoother and more flowing, and an unusually picturesque and eloquent pas- sage more picturesque and eloquent. II. Technique of the Style. — A. Words. — The qualities of Ruskin's vocabulary, as regards individual words, are of no great importance here ; for the main excellence of his style lies in' the skill with which he combines his words and phrases into sentences. As an introduction to the sentences, however, a few characteristics of his 272 Notes diction may be noted, (i) The vocabulary is large, and is composed of simple, rather homely words, mostly of Saxon origin. (2) Many of these words are such as we associate with Biblical phraseology, as " hallowed " (155, 6), " troubled only of angels " (156, 28) ; some are names which suggest the Bible, as "the porch of Bethesda" (156, 29), " Hill of Mars " (168, 14) ; and it will be noted not only that several quoted phrases {e.g. 155, 4, 166, 5), but that several phrases not in quotation, as "that the life was more than the meat, and the body than raiment" (165, 30), "the life that now is" (171, 21), and "that which is to come" (23), are from the same source. (3) Adjectives are rather numerous, especially toward the end of the selection, and generally in the more picturesque and the more eloquent parts. These adjectives (and the nouns, also), it is important to note, are (a) sometimes compounds of Ruskin's devis- ing, as "fain-hidden" and "full-confessed" (155, 8), "dead-fallen'' (164, 14), and are (J>) often used in somewhat unusual senses, as "distinct connection" (163, 2), "astonished condition" (164, 15), "last depravity" (167, 13), and the like. (4) Lastly, there is much alliteration, as in " conjijtj in jubrtance not in dpherj" (162, II), and other such combinations. B. Sentences. — Ruskin's style is commonly called a balanced style, and this characterization is in the main true of it. The bal- ance is one of form and symmetry, however, rather than of sub- stance ; there are few real antitheses, such as we have seen in Macatday ; it is rather the matching of one clause by another of equivalent rhythmical value. One of the most obvious examples is 166, 12, a sentence of two members, in which the words of the first are exactly parallel and equivalent to those of the second, with the omission of the connectives "And as." Another begins with line 21 of the same page, where the symmetry is not quite so exact. The sentence may be expressed thus : We usually believe | in immortality, so far as to avoid preparation | for death ; and I in mortality, so far as to avoid preparation | for anything | after death. "And" is, of course, the pivot, so to speak, and "We usually be- lieve " is made equivalent to " after death " ; otherwise the symmetry is exact enough. The sentence contains an illustration which ac- The Crown of Wild Olive 273 counts in part for Ruskin's unusual use of words : for the sake of the balance he uses "mortality" in the Shaksp'erian and now uncom- mon sense of human life. Another case in which the symmetry is one of rhythm rather than of form is to be seen in the triplicate sen- tence of the same page (17), thus : Men must | either hereafter live, or hereafter die ; fate may be bravely met, and conduct wisely ordered, | on either expectation ; but never in hesitation | between ungrasped hope and unconfronted fear. This quality of symmetry comes, in all probability, from Ruskin's early and diligent reading of the Bible.^ The same sort of balance may be seen in such passages as the following : He that dwelleth in the secret place | of the Most High shall abide under the shadow | of the Almighty. — Psalm xci. i. Or again : Or ever the silver cord be loosed, | or the golden bowl be broken, or the pitcher be broken at the fountain, | or the wheel broken at the cistern. Then shall the dust return to the earth | as it was : and the spirit shall return unto God | who gave it. — Ecclesiastes, xii. 6, 7. This balance is often carried out in the clauses ; not only is clause balanced with clause but phrase with phrase and word with word. This may be seen in the sentences quoted above, but the following (155, 2) is a better example : No cleaner or diviner waters ever sang | with constant lips of the hand which " giveth rain from heaven " ; no pastures ever lightened in spring-time ) with more passionate blossoming ; no sweeter homes ever hallowed the heart of the passer-by | with their pride of peaceful gladness, — fain-hidden — yet full-confessed. The same effects on a larger scale are to be observed in the three sentences of 164, 8-28, and in the long sentence 168, 16. We shall get a better notion of the symmetry of the style if we examine the grouping found in any characteristic sentence. Thus, 1 C^ W. G. Collingwood : The Life and Work of John Ruskin. London (Methuen), 1893. Vol. I. pp. 16, 22. T 274 Notes to take the last quotation, if we indicate the words which naturally fall together in groups when the passage is read, we shall find that the passage, with some rearrangement, looks as follows : A B C D I. { cleaner ^ No ■ or > waters I diviner ) ever sang with constant lips of the hand which " giveth rain from heaven " ; II. no pastures ever lightened in spring-time with more passionate blos- soming ; III. no sweeter homes ever hallowed the heart of the passer-by with their pride of peaceful gladness, — IV. fain-hidden — yet full- confessed. Another good example is 156, 23, which illustrates a different rhythm . Alliteration' is also prominent. In the passages before quoted it is patent that the effect is in a large measure due to the recurrence of the same consonant sounds. A good example is the third sen- tence (155, 8), where the trick is especially obvious in the recur- rence of the nasal and spirant sounds, as in "... I have wever jee« a.nyth\ng so ghajtly in its inner tragic meaning; — «ot in Pisan Msretnma., — «ot by Campagn^a tomh, —r- not by the sand-isles of the Torcella« jhore, — ay the jIow stealing of ajpectj of recklew, i«dole«t, animal neglect, over the delicate Jweet«ew of that KngUsh 1 For a good account of alliteration, see R. L. Stevenson : . Oii Style in Liter- ature, Contemporary Review, 47 ; 548. The Crown of Wild Olive 275 jce^e : nox is z.ny blaj^phewy or i;«piety, a«y frantic jayi«^, or god- lej'J thought, »zore appalliwg" to wze, VLSing the be^t power of judg- wze«t I have to dij-cer^ its jenje a«d jcope, tha« the iwj'ole^t defiliw^ of thoje springs by the human herds that dri«k of theOT." Another good example is 165, 4-10, in which the /v and pd sounds predomi- nate, the fv at the beginning, and the pi towards the end. It is probable that to these sounds the passage — and such others as 167, 1-16 and 168, 5-1 1 — owes much of its beauty; for these sounds are among the most musical of the consonants. Of allit- eration, balanced in the different members of a sentence, 155, 2, twice cited above, is a good instance. It is interesting to note that Ruskin sometimes seems to go out of his way to obtain his alliterative sounds. As, for the sake of symmetry, we found " mortality " (166, 23) in an unusual sense, so we find " cast " (156, 4) and '' dig " (8) where a writer less sensi- tive to sound would have used "threw" and "bury"; and so, too, "Carshalton" (155, 23) instead of " Addington" or " Beddington." The same may possibly be true of "that" (155, 21) and "which" (25), though one should hardly pronounce very subtly upon the matter. The cadence, that is, the fall in sound of the clause or the sen- tence, is so noticeable a quality in Ruskin's style that it need be hardly more than referred to. Roughly speaking, one could say that the closing words of a sentence are prolonged a trifle to make the sentence fall away gradually and without abruptness. Thus, in the thrice-quoted sentence (155, 2), one function of the words "fain-hidden — yet full-confessed" is to avoid an abrupt ending. Such is the function of the words " and streams " in the final phrase " with all their pools and streams " (155, 2) of the preceding sen- tence; and other good instances are "from the porch of Bethesda" (156, 28), and "those wells of English waters" (157, 2). III. Summary and Suggestions. — The qualities of Ruskin's style, of which the main lines have been indicated, require a more exhaustive examination on the part of the student, in order that they may be verified, that new facts may be brought to light, and especially that some notion may be obtained of the use which Ruskin makes of these qualities. On the last of these points several questions may be asked : I. Do you notice a wide range of sentence forms? Should you 276 Notes say that Ruskin frequently uses several sentences, together or apart, in which the scheme of symmetry is precisely or nearly the same? 2. Do certain parts of the selection appear to you to contain more alliteration than the others, to be more evenly balanced, or to have more flowing cadences? Should you say, for instance, that in 1. and II. there is much balance and alliteration; that in III.-IX. there is comparatively little ; that in X.-XV. there is again a great deal; and that in XVI. the harmony becomes wild and dissolute? If so, should you say that there are corresponding changes in the subject-matter ? 3. In detail, can you trace any fine shading between the idea and the style? Do you feel, for example, an appropriate difference in rhythm in passing say from sentence 2 to sentence 3 (155, 8) of I. ? 4. Does Ruskin usually work up a sentence to a climax of sound and sense in such a way that though the structure be actually loose, the effect, except for the cadence, is a constantly heightening one? VII. WHAT IS A UNIVERSITY? I. Purpose of the Style. — In the Rise and Progress of Universi- ties, Newman appears as the advocate for a cause which to most readers seems out of keeping with modern notions — the founding of a modern institution on the ancient classical and early Christian ideal. Hence the piirpose of his style, as of his structure, is not merely to make his idea clear, but also to impress its virtue upon his audience, and to do this in such a way that he may captivate them before they are aware. On the first reading of the present chapter one probably finds little that seems peculiar and striking ; the style appears wholly natural and easy, and it is only on analysis that the subtlety and dexterity of Newman's handling become ap- parent. The skill with which Newman conceals his art makes the style, in spite of the unmodern cast of the idea, a thing of power and beauty. To use a single word, Mr. Morley's, the style may best be characterised as " winning." ^ II. Technique of the Style. — /f. Words. — 'X\\e. chief facts which should be pointed out with regard to Newman's vocabulary are 1 Macanlay, 91, 28. For a good account of Newman's method and style see L. E. Gates : Selections from Newman. New York (Holt), 1895. pp. ix.-lix. What is a University ? 277 three: (i) the range and variety of the words, seen best in such passages as 177, 10-24, 180, 8-23, and 185 ; (2) the aptness, as well as the accuracy, of the diction, which convinces a reader that New- man has chosen the word best suited to his meaning ; and (3) per- haps more important, a slightly Latin turn to the words throughout the chapter. This last characteristic does not mean that Newman uses a very large percentage of foreign words, but that many of his important words, the words which stand for the main ideas, express ideas of Latin origin, and in Newman's use of them not usual to our way of thinking. This characteristic is seen not only in such Latin phrases as "Studium GeneraW'' (172, 4) and '■Hitera scripta^'' (173, 21), but also in such phrases as "an authority of appeal" (175, 16), " we must repair to the fountain, and drink there " (176, 22), and in the kind of illustration which Newman uses, that from the Sibyl (174, 4) and that from the history of the early Church (183). B. Sentences. — Among the characteristics of Newman's sentences the most notable is the frequent balance. This is not so much a pairing of clause with clause, as with Ruskin, though examples of this sort are not uncommon (e.g. 176, 12), as in the adding of clause to clause and the piling up of a series of like constnictions. A good example is 180, 8, referred to above : the subject of the sentence is prolonged for twelve lines by the accumulation of phrases and words and is broken by semicolons into four large groups, each with its own subdivisions. Another example on a smaller scale is 185, 25, and throughout the essay there are many such. This is a trait which we have not seen in any of the foregoing selections ; it is a trait, moreover, which suggests Cicero more than any modern writer. (Cf. Rhetoric, p. 122.) A few effects which distinguish this form of sentence may be noted, (i) There is a rapidity of movement coming from this bal- ance and the frequent omission of connectives {e.g. 183, 4, 5, 6). (2) The close of the sentence is generally prolonged to produce a cadence {passim). (3) Each sentence usually moves towards a climax of idea {e.g. 172, 5, 174, 15). It should be further noted that this climax, as well as the speed of the sentences, comes from the accretions of words and phrases {e.g. 177, 10), which move towards a cumulation of idea ; so that, though many of the sentences are technically loose in structure, the effect of the style is distinctly, though not monotonously, periodic. The same effect of climax is 278 Notes of course true of the structure of the entire chapter, throughout which the idea gains in lucidity, richness, and enthusiasm of presen- tation, just as the style gains vigour and rapidity of expression. In Newman's handling of sentences there are one or two things to be observed — the variety in which these few essential character- istics are to be found, and the dispersion of effects throughout the chapter. That is to say, the naturalness and ease of Newman's style comes from the fact that no one trait, unless it be a natural climax and the piling-up of phrases, is prominent above all others. One cannot say, as with Arnold, for example, that any single quality is in excess. Let us take as a single instance of what is meant perhaps the most oratorical passage in the chapter, the passage in which, at least, the same forms recur most frequently — paragraph XI. In this paragraph the sentences are shorter than those of any other paragraph of the chapter, except the very short XII., which is really a continuation and a summing up of XI. Their average length is less than twenty-seven words (26.87) ; no one of the preceding ten paragraphs has an average sentence of less than thirty words. The ' movement is more rapid than that of any of the preceding para- graphs ; and this rapidity comes about from the similarity in the structure of the sentences ; the majority begin with " It is," and the balance of clauses, especially toward the end, is striking. This similarity does not, however, render the passage monotonous, for Newman, by the restatement of his main thesis in 184, 27, and by a good deal of unsymmetrical looseness of sentence structure, — the majority of the sentences are, in fact, technically loose, — has broken the formula without breaking the swing of his sentences. Indeed, the only principle that is used without stint is climax : the language is more figurative toward the end than at the beginning, and in the last sentence Newman cleverly owns himself unable to rise to the expression of his idea; the sentences become a trifle more rapid in movement, and the beat grows more regular ; and, to complete the effect, each sentence works up to its main idea, now expressed in a loose clause, now in periodic form. In other para- graphs the variety of use and the dispersion of effects is even more characteristic. III. Summary and Suggestions. — The foregoing analysis has been purposely general. It has attempted merely to indicate the chief traits of Newman's style, and to show how these are obtained. General Suggestions for the Study of Style 279 These results should be verified by the student. In the present essay Newman's style is perhaps easier of analysis than elsewhere. It has less rhetorical parade than that of The Idea of a University^ and is less artfully simple and insinuating than that of the Apologia pro Vita Sua, to both of which a student should turn. It is interesting to note that Newman never wrote rapidly and readily. He always took great pains with his style, often revising chapters " over and over again," and this practice he was obliged to keep up till late in life.^ GENERAL SUGGESTIONS FOR THE STUDY OF STYLE. Since style is a more various thing than structure, to formulate a series of questions covering the possible range of expression is a practically impossible task. A few suggestions of a general sort may, however, be offered to aid the student toward getting a better hold of any given bit of style, and applying its lessons to his own work. A student should, then, (i) master the structure of an essay to see what the purpose of the author is ; (2) he should note the general impression that the style makes on him, and should make this impression more definite by comparison with other pieces of writing ; (3) he should then attempt to analyze the causes of this impression by considering {a) the words and (b) the sentences; (4) he may then verify his analysis by various tests, such as the change here and there of a word or a sentence, and, in some cases, by mechanical tests ; and, lastly, (5) he should attempt to see how the style is fitted to the purpose of the author, and, as a larger prob- lem, in what respects it is expressive of the author's personality. BIBLIOGRAPHY OF STYLE. The best books dealing with style are the following. The refer- ences are in all cases made to the editions used. From the point of view of Rhetoric : Genung, J. F., The Practical Elements of Rhetoric. Boston (Ginn), 1894. pp. 11-192. 1 Letters and Correspondence of John Henry Newman. Edited by Anne Mozley. London (Longmans), 1891. Vol. XL p. 476. The letter is dated April 13, 1869, Newman's sixty-ninth year. 28o Notes Hill, A. S., The Foundations of Rhetoric. New York (Harper's), 1892. pp. 27-302. Hill, A. S., The Principles of Rhetoric (revised edition). New York (Harper's), 1895. pp. 1-230. McElroy, J. G. R., The Structure of English Prose. New York, ' (Armstrong), 1890. pp. 50-280. Wendell, Barrett, English Composition. New York (Scribner's), 1893. pp. 1-113 and 193-307. Only the more modern treatises have been referred to, and in a general way. For a detailed table of references to the various ele- ments of style, as treated in these books, see Rhetoric, pp. vii., viii. Books dealing with the analysis of style are the following : Minto, William, Manual of English Prose Literature. Edinburgh (Blackwood), 1881. Sherman, L. A., Analytics of Literature. Boston (Ginn), 1894. pp. 256-341. The following essays on style should be cited : Coleridge, S. T., Style. Complete Works. New York (Harper's), 1853. Vol. IV., pp. 337-343- De Quincey, Thomas, Style. Works. Edinburgh (Black), 1890. Vol. X., pp. 134-245- Pater, Walter, Style, in Appreciations. London (Macmillan), 1890. pp. 1-36. Renton, William, The Logic of Style. London (Longmans), 1874. (Suggestive, but difficult.) Saintsbury, George, English Prose Style, in Miscellaneous Essays. New York (Scribner's), 1892. pp. 1-41. Spencer, Herbert, The Philosophy of Style. New York (Appleton), 1872. Stevenson, R. L., On Style in Literature. Contemporary Review. Vol. 47, p. 548. Symonds, J. A., Notes on Style, in Essays Speculative and Sug- gestive. London (Chapman and Hall), 1890. Vol. L, p. 256flF. Vol. IL, pp. 1-30. ELEMENTS OF RHETORIC AND ENGLISH COMPOSITION. FIRST HIGH SCHOOL COURSE. By GEORGE R. CARPENTER, Columbia University. 12mo. Cloth. Price 75 cents, net. SECOND HIGH SCHOOL COURSE. In Preparation. RECENTLY ADOPTED BY Norwalk, Conn., Miss Mead's School. Danbury, Conn., High School. Los Angeles, Cal., High School. College of Idaho. St. Louis, Mo., Washington University. Baltimore, Md., City Schools. Waban, Mass., Windsor Hall School. Fall River, Mass., High School. Mt. Vernon, Ind., High School. Boston, Charlestown High School. *' Roxbury High School. ** Miss Hersey's School. Andover, Mass., Phillips Academy. Springfield, Mass., High School. Palmer, Mass , High School. Northampton, Mass., Burnham School. Providence, R.I., High School. New York City, Teachers' College. Binghamton, N.Y., High School. Montclair, N.J., High School. Elizabeth, N.J., Pingry School. Hoboken, N.J., Stevens School. New York City, Berkeley School. " ** Columbia Grammar School. Pottstown, Pa., Hill School. Pittsburgh, Pa., High School. Dayton, O., St. Mary's Institute. University of South Dakota. University of Texas. Hyde Park, Vt. Toronto Globe: — The plan of the author is to teach one thing at a time, and to teach that one thing well. His directions as to how rhetoric should be studied, and the use to be made of standards and authorities, are exceedingly valuable, and well calculated to help the attentive reader to make the best use of his advantages for acquiring power of expression. ... It is an excellent exemplification of the new methods of education suited to the closing years of the nineteenth century. EXERCISES IN RHETORIC AND ENGLISH COMPOSITION. ADVANCED COURSE. By GEORGE R. CARPENTER, Columbia University. 12mo. Cloth. Price $1.00, net. Wabash College. Drury College. Bowdoin College. University of Texas. Packer Institute. Heidleberg University. Western Maryland College. University of Chicago. Swarthmore College. Southwest Kansas College. Columbian University. University of South Dakota. Wellesley College. University of Minnesota. " It is a work of a pre-eminently practical character. Its arrangement is admira- ble, its presentation of essential facts lucid, its examples well chosen and interesting. It is handsomely bound, and altogether one of the most useful college manuals of rhetoric that have yet appeared." THE MACMILLAN COMPANY, 66 FIFTH AVENUE, HEW YORK. AMERICAN PROSE. SELECTIONS, WITH CRITICAL INTRODUCTIONS BY VARIOUS WRITERS AND A GENERAL INTRODUCTION. Edited by GEORGE RICE CARPENTER, Professor of Rhetoric and Mnglish Composition in Columbia University, 8vo. Cloth. Price $1.00. Professor Willis Boughton, Ohio University^ Athens, OAz'o .* — " There is n« other book like It. I am sure that you are supplying a want on the part of teach- ers." Professor James M. Dixon, Washington University, St. Louis, Mo, : — " The value of ' American Prose ' seems to me singularly well-timed, and the work has been efficiently done. The criticism is sympathetic, incisive, and modern. I am delighted with the book." The book has its use alike for the general reader and for the student. It brings to both, within a very moderate compass, not only illustration of American pi'ose, but a body of thoroughly competent and discriminating criticism. Among the well-known American writers who have contributed critiques to this volume are Professor Trent, Professor Munroe Smith, Barrett Wendell, Edward Everett Hale, Jr., Colonel Hig- finson, Brander Matthews, Professor Richardson, Professor Charles Eliot Norton, rofessor R. E, Gates, Mr. Ho wells, and John Fiske. STUDIES IN STRUCTURE AND STYLE. BASED ON SEVEN MODERN ENGLISH ESSAYS. By W. T. BREWSTER, A.M., Tutor in Rhetoric and English Composition in Columbia University. With an Introduction by GEORGE R. CARPENTER, Professor of Rhetoric and English Composition in Columbia University, 12iuo. Cloth. $1.10, net. Boston Daily Advertiser : — The author has used rare discrimination in selecting the essays which he discusses, insisting that they should be of the highest cla.s5 of modern literature, and that they should serve as models to the student. The analy' sis of structure and style in these volumes is most able, and the book will be found a most valuable one as a text in the higher American institutions of learning. The Beacon (Boston): — Professor Brewster's manual is intelligently planned, and the selections made are^admirable. . . . The advantage which such a work possesses over the old-fashioned text-book of rhetoric are too obvious to require comment. THE MACMILLAN COMPANY, 66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK. A BRIEF HISTORY OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE. By OLIVER PARRAR EMERSON., A.M., Ph.D., Professor of Rhetoric aud English Philology in Western Reserve University. 12mo. Cloth. $1.00, net. The Dial : — This book is marked by the same excellences as his longer work on the same subject, published less than two years ago. . . . One of the noticeable features of the book is the stress laid upon spoken language as a factor in shaping English, past and present ; and this, in the hands of an enthusiastic and skilful teacher, may be made the means of original work on the part of students. The Citizen : — Professor Emerson's work is scholarly, his style pleasing, and his presentation clear. It is to be hoped that this book will be an effective means in giving the students of the high school an exact understanding of the history of their native speech. Evening Post : — We know of no book on this difficult and impor- tant subject which can with confidence be put into the hands of begin- ners. It is also to be heartily recommended to that large class of mature readers who wish to get an accurate knowledge of the history of our mother tongue, but have scanty leisure, and are frightened by technicalities. THE MACMILLAN COMPANY, 66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK. A FIRST BOOK IN WRITING ENGLISH. By EDWIN HERBERT LEWIS, Ph.D., Associate Professor of English in Le-zvis Institute and in the University of Chicago, l2ino. Buckram. Price 80 cents. Albert H. Smyth, Central High School, Philadelphia: — "I have read it care- fully and am much pleased with the way the work has been done. It is careful, thoughtful, and clearly arranged. The quotations are apt and judiciously selected. It is the best book of its size and scope that I am acquainted with." Miss G. W. Hubbell, Oberlin Academy: — ''! am delighted with it. It comes nearer being the book I want than any I have seen. I shall adopt it into my Com- position classes this fall." Professor A. E. Lang, Victoria University : — " I know of nothing else that is quite so good, either in plan or execution, and I should like to see the book placed in the High Schools and Collegiate Institutes throughout Ontario." Josephine Henderson, State Normal School, Oshkosh, Wis.: — "It is simple and to the point. It seems to me a most suggestive book to teachers who- are not specialists in English. I shall take pleasure in recommending this work to my students who will teach in the higher grades or in the High School." Miss Agnes J. Kirkwood, Albert Lea College, Albert Lea, Minn,: — " I have introduced Dr. Lewis's First Book-in Writing English into my preparatory classes in Rhetoric and I find it very helpful. It is clear, and so suggestive and interesting as to make the use of it in the class room a pleasure." Professor C. M. Brink, Kalamazoo, Mich.: — " If all students in our secondary schools should be given a thorough course in this book, we should have less reason to complain of the poor preparation in English manifested by so many of those that enter our colleges.*' Professor Robert Herrick, University of Chicago, Chicago, III. : — *' I take great pleasure in saying that I think the book shows sound sense, pedagogical ability, and learning." Superintendent B. B. Jackson, Ashland, Wis.: — " It is not above the capacity and development of the pupil of the first year in the secondary school, as most of the books in English are. It is a pleasing book in every way, and I believe will tend to make work in English interesting and delightful." AN INTRODUCTION TO THE STUDY OF LITERATURE. FOR THE USE OF SECONDARY AND GRADED SCHOOLS. By EDWIN HERBERT LEWIS, Ph.D., Associate Professor of English in Lewis Institute and in the University of Chicago. 12mo. Cloth. Price $1.00. School Journal: — It is a collection of lyrics, ballads, and short stories for children of the higher grades. The topics under which the selections are arranged have an order that follows the development of the interests during adolescence. The ex- tracts themselves are admirable. It is refreshing to find, side by side with the master- pieces that every boy used to declaim, some of the fine things of Walt Whitman, Kipling, Stevenson. Conan Doyle, and Gerald Massey. Milwaukee Sentinel: — The selections have been made with commendable judg- ment and taste, having reference not only to intrinsic worth, but to the healthy inter- ests of youth. A glance at the introduction will show that the collection has been founded on sound principles, another glance at the contents will show that the result is a choice body of literature. THE MACMILLAN COMPANY, 66 FIFTH AVENUE, MEW YORK. Elements of Rhetoric and English Composition FIRST AND SECOND HIGH SCHOOL COURSES By GEORGE R. CARPENTER Professor of Rhetoric and lEnglisk Composition in Columbia University First Hiigh School Course = = Cloth, 12010, 60 cents, net Second High School Course - Cloth, i2mo, 50 cents, net These volumes are based on the following fundamental principles : — • 1 . That the same training should be given pupils who go to college and pupils who do not. 2. That the formal study of rhetoric and composition should be be- gun not later than the second year of the four year high school course, and continued for at least two years. 3. That during the first of these two courses pupils should be trained in the choice of words and the structure of sentences and paragraphs; that during the second course they should be briefly trained in the main principles of exposition, narration, description, and (perhaps) argument. 4. That during both courses care should be taken that pupils under- stand thoroughly a few main principles and that they have abundant practice in applying them ; that stress be laid on correctness, clearness, directness, and simplicity of style, and that correctness be regarded from a liberal point of view, basing it on the actual practice of educated and cultivated Americans in speech and writing. THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK. BOSTOW CHICAGO SAN FRANCISCO Ttemont Building 215-221 Wabash Avenue 319-325 Sansome Street Principles of English Grammar FOR THE USE OF SCHOOLS By GEORGE R. CARPENTER Prq^ssor ^ Rhetoric and English Composition in Columbia Univtrsitf i2mo. Half Leather. 75 cents, net Professor Robert Herrick, Chicago University : "I have had occasion recently to examine a number of new gram- mars prepared for secondary schools, and of all that I have seen Pro- tessor Carpenter's is the only one which I should care to teach or to recommend to teachers." Studies in Structure and Style BASED ON SEVEN MODERN ENGLISH ESSAYS By W. T. BREWSTER, A.M. Tutor in Rhetoric and English Composition in Columbia University With an Introduction by George R. Carpenter, Professor of Rhetoric and English Composition, in Columbia University. " i2mo. Cloth. $1.10, net Boston Daily Advertiser : "The author has used rare discrimination in selecting the essays which he discusses, insisting that they should be of the highest class of modern literature, and that they should serve as models to the student. The analysis of structure and style in these volumes is most able, and the book will be found a most valuable one as a text in the highei American institutions of learning," The Beacon (Boston) : " Professor Brewster's manual is intelligently planned, and the selec- tions made are admirable. . . . The advantages which such a work possesses over the old-fashioned text-book of rhetoric are too obvious to require comment." THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK BOSTON CHICAGO SAN FRANCISCO Tremont Building 215-221 Wabash Avenue 319-325 Sansome Street