CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY PR 751315™*"""'™™'*^'""'™'^'' ® «lSif,,I?,I,,!M*'' P™*^ style, from M 3 1924 012 980 144 ,„. DATE DUE SPf " !ZS!^KaB>. mm>i X rmfw GAYUORD PRINTEDINU.S.A. Cornell University Library The original of tliis book is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924012980144 SPECIMENS OF ENGLISH PROSE STYLE SPECIMENS OF ENGLISH PROSE STYLE FROM MALORY TO MAC AULA Y SELECTED AND ANNOTATED WITH AN INTRODUCTORY ESSAY BY GEORGE SAINTSBURY The other harmony of prose LONDON KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH &• CO. CHICAGO JANSEN, M<^CLURG &- CO. MDCCCLXXXVl Vf Vy> Sis CONTENTS. FAGB ENGLISH PROSE STYLE xv SIR THOMAS MALORY THE DEATH OF LANCELOT I HUGH LATIMER. 14 — ISSS- THE DILIGENT BISHOP ........ 5 SIR THOMAS ELYOT. 14 —1546. THE TRUE SIGNIFICATION OF TEMPERANCE A MORAL VIRTUE .... .... 8 ROGER ASCHAM. 1515—1568. 1^ THE U^AYOF THE WIND 10 SIR WALTER RALEIGH. 1552—1618. THE END OF EMPIRES AND OF LIFE 13 EDMUND SPENSER. 1552 ?— 1599- THE IRISH MANTLE l6 SIR PHILIP SIDNEY. 1554— 1586. TO HIS SISTER 18 RICHARD HOOKER. 1554- i6oo.' THE SANCTIONS OP HUMAN LAW 20 JOHN LYLY. I5S4?— REMSDIA AMORIS 23 vi CONTENTS. PAGE FRANCIS BACON, VISCOUNT ST. ALBANS. 1561— 1626. OF MASQUES AND TRIUMPHS 26 OF STUDIES 27 BENJAMIN JONSON. 1574—1637. ON EDUCATION AND STYLE 30 ROBERT BURTON. 1576— 1640. TERRESTRIAL DEVILS 34 THE CURE OF MELANCHOLY . . . . 38 EDWARD HERBERT, LORD HERBERT OF CHER- BURV. 1581—1648. THE EVIDENCE OF ANOTHER LIFE 40 THOMAS HOBBES. 1588— 1679. DREAMS AND APPARITIONS 42 IZAAC WALTON. 1593— 1683. CHARACTER OF NOWEL 46 WILLIAM CHILLINGWORTH. 1602— 1644. AGAINST THE PUNISHMENT OF DEATH .... 48 SIR THOMAS BROWNE. 1605— 1682. BONES OF THE DEAD 51 CONSCIENCE .52 SELF OPINION 53 THOMAS FULLER. 1608— 1661. ON SURGEONS 54 ONMUSIC cr EDWARD HYDE, EARL OF CLARENDON. 1608- 1674. THE CHARACTER OF LAUD „ THE BATTLE OF LANSDOWN rg JOHN MILTON. 1608— 1674. THE SEARCH FOR DEAD TRUTH 5, THE TRAINING OF SCHOOLBOYS 65 CONTENTS. vii _ PAGE JEREMY TA YLOR. 1613—1667. THE FRUITS OP SIN 69 TffB WEAKNESS OF MAN 70 HENRY MORE. 1614— 1687. THE WORKS OF THE DEVIL 73 ON DEATH . 74 RICHARD BAXTER. 1615—1691. THE PEOPLE OF SOLDANIA 76 ABRAHAM COWLEY. 1618-1667. THE GARDEN . . . ' 78 OLIVER CROMWELL , 80 JOHN EVELYN. 1620— 1706. THE LIFE OF TREES 82 ALGERNON SIDNEY. 1621— 1683. HIS APOLOGY 84 JOHN BUNYAN. 1628— 1688. THE HISTORY OF MR. FEARING 87 MANSOUL HELD BY THE DOUBTERS 9I THE SCIENCE OF BREAKING 92 SIR WILLIAM TEMPLE. 1628— 1699. THE ENGLISH CLIMATE 95 THE USB OF POETRY AND MUSIC 97 GEORGE SA VILE, MARQUESS OF HALIFAX. 1630— 1695- THE CHARACTER OF A TRIMMER 99 JOHN DRYDEN. 1631— 1700. A layman's FAITH IO4 THE USE OF ARCHAIC WORDS I07 JOHN LOCKE. 1632— 1704. PUBLIC SCHOOLS HO viii CONTENTS. PAGE ROBERT SOUTH. 1633— 1716. THB EXECUTION OF CHARLES I. . . , . . • • "3 PLAINNESS OF APOSTOUC SPEECH IIS APHRA BEHN. 1640?— 1689. LOVE LETTERS 117 GILBERT BURNET. 1643—1715. ARCHBISHOP CRANMER 119 CHARLES Leslie. 1650—1722. THE ARGUMENT FROM PROBABILITY I23 DANIEL DEFOE. 166 1— 1731. THE SHIPWRECK . . . ' . , . . I25 SIGNS AND WONDERS 1 27 THB SKIRMISH AFTER MARSTON MOOS . . . .129 RICHARD BElStTLEY. 1662— 1742. PHALARISM ... 133 THB CHANGE OF LANGUAGE 1 35 TONATHAN SWIFT. 1667— 1745. THB TRANSPORT OF GULLIVER TO THE CAPITAL . 1 37 THB KINCfs OPINIONS ONGUNPOWDBR . . . .139 CONCERNING MADNESS . . . . . . I4I SIR RICHARD STEELE. 1671 7-1729. SARCASMS ON MARRIAGE I44 JOSEPH ADDISON. 1672— 1719. ON ASKING ADVICE ON AFFAIRS OF LOVE .... I48 LITERARY TASTE -151 HENRY ST. JOHN, VISCOUNT BOLINGBROKE. 1678—1751. REMEDIES FOR AFFLICTION jc-j CONYERS MIDDLETON. 1683-1750. CICERO CONSUL i^^ CONTENTS. ix FACE GEORGE BERKELEY. 1684—1753. MATTER 159 LYSICLBS ON AGNOSTICISM l6l ALEXANDER POPE. 1688— 1744. A RECEIPT TO MAKE AN EPIC POEM l66 SAMUEL RICHARDSON. 1689— 1 761. THE DEATH OF LOVELACE I70 LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU. 1690?— 1762. LOUVERS 174 fOSEPH BUTLER. 1692—1752. THE DEATH OF THE RIGHTEOUS 1 77 PHILIP DORMER STANHOPE, EARL OF CHESTER- FIELD. 1694— 1773. THE CHARACTER OF RICHARD, EARL OF SCARBOROUGH . 1 79 ROBER T PAL TOOK. Peter's courtship 183 HENR Y FIELDING. 1 707—1 754. PARTRIDGE at the PLAY 185 SAMUEL JOHNSON. 1709—1784. ADDISON AS A PROSE writer I90 PUNCH AND CONVERSATION I93 DAVID HUME. 1711—1776. ON MIRACLES 196 HIS OWN CHARACTER 197 LAURENCE STERNE. 1713—1769. ON SLEEP 199 THE MONK 201 THOMAS GRAY. 1716— 1771. A SUNRISE 204 X CONTENTS. PAGB HORACE WALPOLE. 1717— 1797. THE JOYS OF LONDON ....... 205 GILBERT WHITE. 1720— 1793. TUB HYBERNATION OF SWALLOWS 207 NATURAL AFFECTION OF ANIMALS 208 TOBIAS SMOLLETT. 1721—1771. A BUDGET OF PARADOXES 211 ADAM SMITH. 1723— 1790. PROFESSIONAL GAINS 2l6 SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. 1723— 1792. THE CRITERION OF BEAUTY 219 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 1728— 1774. THE STROLLING PLAYER 223 EDMUND BURKE. \Tip—'^Ti1- ON REFORM 226 GROUNDS OP SYMPATHY WITH FRANCE .... 228 EDWARD GIBBON. 1737—1794. THE HERESY OF APOLLINARIS 232 HIS CONVERSION TO THE ROMAN CHURCH .... 235 TAMES BOS WELL. 1740—1795. CHARACTER OF DR. JOHNSON jjn SIR PHILIP FRANCIS. 1740— 1818. TO THE DUKE OF GRAFTON 242 WILLIAM PALE Y. 1 743-1805. OF THE SUCCESSION OF PLANTS AND ANIMALS . . . 244 THOMAS HOLCROFT. 1745-1805. THE LIFE OF A JOCKEY 2^ HENR Y MACKENZIE. i745_,83,. HARLEfS COMPASSION . . , ,,. CONTENTS. xi FRANCES BUKNEY, MADAME LYARBLAY. 1752— "'""^ 1840. A MIDDLE CLASS EXQUISITE 255 WILLIAM GODWIN. 1756— 1836. OF JUSTICE 259 ST. LEOlfs THOUGHTS ON GAINING THE ELIXIR OP LIFE . 261 MAKY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 1759—1797. woman's true POSITION 264 WILLIAM COBBETT. 1762—1835. the wicked borough-mongers 265 ANNE RADCLIFFE. 1764— 1823. Emily's midnight adventure 267 ROBERT HALL. 1764— 1831. reflexions on war 272 SIR JAMES MA CKINTOSH. 1 765— 1832. CHIVALRY. ... 274 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 1766—1849. THE DUBLIN shoeblack 276 SIR WALTER SCOTT. 1771— 1832. AN antiquary's STUDY 28 1 THE INSTALLATION OF THE ABBOT OF KENNAQUHAIR . 283 SYDNEY SMITH. 1771— 1845. THE PRODUCTIONS OF CEYLON 2S6 SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE. 1772— 1834. COLERIDGE AS ^1 LITERARY CANVASSER .... 2S8 THE BOOK OF NA TURE . . . . ' . . . 29O EOBER T SO UTHE Y. 1 774—1 %.\i. DANIEL dove's BOOKS 294 xii CONTENTS. PAGE JANE AUSTEN. 1775—1817. A STRJIWBERRY PARTY ^99 CHARLES LAMB: I77S— 1834. THB CONVALESCENT . .. • • • • 3°3 WAL TER SA VAGE LANDOR. 1775—1864. THE DREAM OF BOCCACCIO 3°° CRITICS AS GENTLEMEN-USHERS 3'° HENRY HALLAM. 1777—1859. THE SUPPRESSION OF CONVOCATION 3 '2 WILLIAM HAZLITT. 1778— 1830. THE ELGIN MARBLES 315 COLERIDGE ' . • • 317 THOMAS MOORE. 1779—1852. A FESTIVAL ON THE NILE 3l8 /OHN WILSON. * 1785—1854 THE fairy's funeral . 321 THOMAS BE QUINCE y. 1785— 1859. the power and danger of the cmsars . . .324 OUR LADY OF darkness' 328 SIR WILLIAM FRANCIS PATRICK NAPIER. 1785— i860. THE BRITISH SOLDIER 329 MARY RUSSELL MITFORD. 1786— 1R55. THE COWSLIP BALL 33I THOMAS LOVE PEACOCK. 1788— 1866. THE DRUNKENNESS OF SEITHENYN 335 HENRY HART MILMAN. 1791— 1868. MONASTICtSM 339 CONTENTS. xiii PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 1792— 1822. ''"'^ TUB LAKE OF COMO 342 POETRY 343 EDWARD IRVING. 1792— 1834. TRUE COURAGE 347 JOHN GIBSON LOCKHART. 1793— 1854. CHARACTER OF HOOK 350 THOMAS CARLYLE. 1795—1881. OLD DRAGOON DROUET 354 COLERIDGE ... 357 ONSTATUES 360 THOMAS BABINGTON, LORD MACAULAY. 1800— 1859. THE RELIEF OF LONDONDERRY ...... 364 iTARREN HASTINGS . . , . > . . 366 ENGLISH PROSE STYLE. " The other harmony of prose." — Dryden. A YEAR or more ago it was reported, perhaps falsely, that a great French writer, whose command of his own tongue was only equalled by his ignorance of the English language and literature, gave in some semi-public form his opinion of the dif- ference between French and English prose and verse. A perfect language, he opined, should show a noteworthy difference be- tween its style in prose and its style in verse : this difference existed in French and did not exist in English. I shall give no opinion as to the truth of this axiom in general, or as to its application to French. But it is not inappropriate to begin an essay on the subject of English prose style by observing that, whatever may be its merits and defects, it is entirely different — different by the extent of the whole heaven of language — from I English verse style. We have had writers, including some of genius, who have striven to make prose like verse : and we have had other writers, including some of genius, who have striven to make verse like prose. Both in so doing have shown themselves to be radically mistaken. The actual vocabulary of the best English style of different pei:iods is indeed almost entirely common to verse and to prose, and it is perhaps this fact which induced the distinguished person above referred to, b xvi ENGLISH PROSE STYLE. and others not much less distinguished, to make a mistake of confusion. The times when the mere dictionary of poetic style has been distinct from the mere dictionary of prosaic style (for there have been such) have not been those in which English literature was at its highest point. But between the syntax, taking that word in its proper sense of the order of words, of prose and the syntax of verse ; between the rhythm of prose and the rhythm of verse ; between the sentence- and clause-architec- ture of prose and the sentence- and clause-architecture of verse, there has been since English literature took a durable form in the sixteenth century at least as strongly marked a difference in English as in other languages. Good poets have usually been good writers of prose ; but in English more than in any other tongue the prose style of these writers has differed from their verse style. The French prose and the French verse of Victor Hugo are remarkably similar in all but the most arbitrary differences, and the same may be said, to a less extent, of the prose and the verse style of Goethe. But Shelley's prose and Shelley's verse (to con- fine myself to examples taken from the present century) are radically different in all points of their style and verbal power ; and so are Coleridge's prose and Coleridge's verse. The same is eminently true of Shakspere, and true to a very great extent of Milton. If it is less true of Dryden and of Pope (it is often true of Dryden to a great degree), that is exactly in virtue of the somewhat un-English influence which, though it benefited English prose not a little, worked upon both. In our own days prose style has become somewhat disarranged, but in the hands of those who have any pretence to style at all, its merits and its defects are in great part clearly traceable to discernment on the one hand, to confusion on the other, of the separate and distinct aims and methods of the prose-writer and the poet. ENGLISH PROSE STYLE. xvii It should scarcely be necessary to say that no attempt is made in this essay to compile a manual of English prose-writing, or to lay down didactically the principles of the art. The most that can be done or that is aimed at is the discovery by a run- ning critical and historical commentary on the illustrations which follow, and on the course of English prose generally, what have been the successive characteristics of its style, what the aims of its writers, and what the amount of success that they have ' attained. There is nothing presumptuous in the attitude of the student, whatever there may be in the attitude of the teacher. Nearly ten years ago, at the suggestion of Mr. John Morley, I attempted in the Fortnightly Review a study of the chief characteristics of contemporary prose. Since then I have re- viewed many hundreds of new books, and have read again, or for the first time, many hundreds of old ones. I do not know that the two processes have altered my views much : they cer- ' tainly have not lessened my estimate of the difficulty of writing ^ good prose, or of the merit of good prose when written. During these ten years considerable attention has undoubtedly been given by English writers to style : I wish I could think that the result has been a distinct improvement in the quality of the pro- duct. If the present object were a study of contemporary prose, much would have to be said on the growth of what I may call the Aniline style and the style of Marivaudage, the first dealing in a gorgeous and glaring vocabulary, the second in unexpected turns and twists of thought or phrase, in long-winded description of incident, and in finical analysis of motive. Unexpectedness, indeed, seems to be the chief aim of the practitioners of both, and it lays them perhaps open to the damaging question of Mr. Milestone in Headlong Hall. When we hear that a bar of music has " veracity," that there is a finely-executed " passage" in. a marble chimney-piece, that someone is " part of the con- xviii ENGLISH PROSE STYLE. science of a nation," that the " andante" of a sonnet is specially noteworthy, the quest after the unexpected has become suffi- ciently evident. But these things are not directly our subject, though we shall find other things remarkably like them in the history of the past. For there is nothing new in art except its beauties, and all the faults of French naturalism and English Eestheticism were doubtless perfectly well known to critics and admired by the uncritical in the days of Hilpa.and Shalum. For reasons obvious enough, not the most or the least obvious being the necessity of beginning somewhere, we begin these specimens with the invention of printing ; not of course denying the title of books written before Caxton set up his press to the title of English or of English prose, but simply fixing a term from which literary production has been volu- minous and uninterrupted in its volume. In the earlier examples, however (up, it may be said, to Lyly), the cha- racter of the passages, though often interesting and note- worthy, is scarcely characteristic. All the writers of this period are, if not actually, yet in a manner, translators. The work of Malory, charming as it is, and worthy to occupy the place of honour here given to it, is notoriously an adaptation of French originals. Latimer and Ascham, especially the former, in parts highly vernacular, are conversational where they are not classical. It was not till the reign of Elizabeth was some way advanced that a definite effort on the part of writers to make an English prose style can be perceived. It took for the most part one of two directions. The first was vernacular in the main, but very strongly tinged with a peculiar fornTof preciousness, the origin of which has been traced to various sources, but which appears clearly enough in the French rhetoriqueurs of the fifteenth century, from whom it spread to Italy, Spain, and England. ENGLISH PROSE STYLE. xix This style, in part almost vulgar, in part an estilo culto of the most quintessenced kind, is represented here only by Lyly. But it is in faet'common to all the Elizabethan pamphleteers — Greene, Nash, Harvey, Dekker, Breton, and the rest. The vernacular in many of them descends even to vulgarity, and the cultivated in Lyly frequently ascends to the incomprehen- sible. Few things are more curious than this mixture of corduroy and clinquant, of slang and learning, of street re- partees and elaborate coterie preciousnesses. On the other hand, the more sober writers were not less classical than their forerunners, though in the endeavour not merely to write Latin sentences rendered into English, or English sentences that would translate with little alteration into Latin, they fell into new difficulties. In all the Elizabethan, Jacobean, and Caroline writers, inelegancies and obscurities occur which may . be traced directly to the attempt to imitate the forms of a lan- guage possessed of regular inflections and strict syntax in a language almost destitute of grammar; Esp'ecially fatal is the attempt to imitate the Latin relative and demonstrative pro- nouns, with their strict agreement of gender, number, and case, and to render them in usage and meaning by the English words of all work who, which, he, they, and to copy the oratio ohliqua in a tongue where the verbs for the most are indistinguishable whether used in obliqua or in recta. These attempts lie at the root of the faults which are found even in the succinct style of Hooker and Jonson, which turn almost to attractions in the quaint paragraph-heaps of the Anatomy of Melancholy, _ which mar many of the finest passages of Milton and Taylor, and which in Clarendon perhaps reach their climax. The abuse of conjunctions— which is also noticeable in most of the writers of this period, and which leads them, apparently out of mere wan- tonness, to prefer a single sentence jointed and rejointed, paren- XX ENGLISH PROSE STYLE. thesised and postscripted, till it does the duty of a paragraph, to a succession of orderly sentences each containing the expres- sion of a simple or moderately complex thought — is not charge- able quite so fairly on imitation of the classics. But it has something to do with this, or rather it has much to do with the absence of any model except the classics. Most of these writers had a g^eat deal to say, and they were as much in want of models as of deterrent examples in regard to the manner of saying it. The feeling seems still to have prevailed, that if a man aimed at literary elegance and precision he should write in Latin, that English might be a convenient vehicle of matter, but was scarcely susceptible of form, that the audience was ex hypothesi incult, uncritical, exoteric, and neither required nor could understand refinements of phrase. I have more than once seen this view of the matter treated with scorn or horror, or both, as if those who take it thought little of the beauty of seventeenth century prose before the Restoration. This treatment does not appear very intelligent. The business of the critic is to deal with and to explain the facts, and all the facts. It is the fact, no doubt, that detached phrases, sentences, even long passages of Milton, of Taylor, of Browne, equal if they do not excel in beauty anything that English prose has since produced. It is the fact that Clarendon is unmatched for moral portrait painting to this day ; that phrase after phrase of Hobbes has the ring and the weight and the sharp outline of a bronze coin ; that Bacon is often as glorious without as within. But it is, at the same time, and not less often, the fact that Clarendon gets himself into involutions through which no breath will last, and which cannot be solved by any kind effort of repunctuation ; that Milton's sentences, beginning magnificently, often end in mere tameness, sometimes in mere discord ; that all the authors of the period abound in what look ENGLISH PROSE STYLE. xxl like wilful and gratuitous obscurities, cacophonies, breaches of sense and grammar and rhythm. To anyone who considers the matter in any way critically, and not in the attitude of mind which shouts " Great is Diana of the Ephesians" by the space of as many hours as maybe, it is perfectly evident that these great men, these great masters, were not thoroughly masters of their instrument ; that their touch, for all its magic in its happier moments, was not certain ; that they groped, and sometimes stumbled in their walk. When Browne begins the famous descant, " Now since these dead bones ; " when Hobbes gathers up human vice and labels it unconcernedly as " either an effect of power or a cause of pleasure ;" when Milton pours forth any one of the scores of masterpieces to be found here and there in his prose work,' let us hold our tongues and simply admire. But it is a merely irrational admiration which refuses to recognize that Browne's antithesis is occasionally an anticlimax and his turn of words occasionally puerile ; that Milton's sentences constantly descend from the mulier formosa to 'Ca^piscisj and that Hobbes, after the very phrase above quoted, spoils its effect as style by a clumsy repetition of nearly but not quite the same form of words, after a fashion which few writers possessing a tithe of Hobbes's genius would have imitated in the eighteenth century. It is still more irrational to deny that most of this great group of writers occasionally make what are neither more nor less than " faults of English," grammatical blunders which actually vitiate their sense. Let us admire Alexander by all means, but let us not try to make out that Alexander's wry neck is worthy of an Apollo or an Antinous. Among the chief reasons for this slowness on the part even of great writers in recognizing the more obvious requirements of Enghsh prose style, not the least perhaps may be found in the fact that English writers had no opportunity of comparison in xxii ENGLISB PROSE STYLE. modern tongues. German literature was not, and Spanish and Italian, which had been cultivated in England with some zeal, were too alien from English in all linguistic points to be of much service. The Restoration introduced the study and com- parison of a language which, though still alien from English, was far less removed from it than the other Romance tongues, and which had already gone through its own reforming process with signal success. On the other hand, the period of original and copious thought ceased in England for a time, and men, having less -to say, became more careful in saying it. The age of English prose which opens with Dryden and Tillotson (the former being really entitled to almost the sole credit of opening it, while Tillotson has enjoyed his reputation as a stylist and still more as an originator of style at a very easy rate) produced, with the exception of Swift and Dryden himself, no writer equal in genius to those of the age before it, but the talent of the writers that it did produce was infinitely better furnished with icommand of its weapons, and before the period itself had (ceased English prose as an instrument may be said to have been perfected. Even in Dryden, though not very often, and in his followers Temple and Halifax occasionally, there appear examples of the old slovenlinesses ; but in the writers of the I Queen Anne school these entirely disappear. To the present day, though their vocabulary may have in places become slightly antiquated, and their phrase, especially in conversational pas- sages, may include forms which have gone out of fashion, there is hardly anything in the structure of their clauses, their sen- tences, or their paragraphs, which is in any way obsolete. The blemishes, indeed, which had to some extent disfigured earlier English prose, were merely of the kind that exists because no one has taken the trouble to clear it away. Given on the one • side a certain conversational way of talking English, inaccurate ENGLISH PROSE STYLE. xxiii or rather licentious as all conversational ways of speaking are, and on the other side a habit of writing exact and formal Latin, what had happened was what naturally would happen. Dryden himself, who during the whole of his life was a constant critical student of language and style, may be said, if not to have /accomplished the change single-handed, at any rate to have [given examples of it at all its stages. He in criticism chiefly, ITemple in miscellaneous essay writing, and Halifax in the political pamphlet, left very little to be done, and the Queen Anne men found their tools ready for them when they began to write. It is moreover very observable that this literary change, unlike many if not most other literary changes, had hardly anything that was pedantic about it. So far was it from endeavouring to classicize English style, that most of its alterations were dis- tinctly directed towards freeing English from the too great ad- mixture of Latin grammar and style. The vernacular influence, of which almost in its purity the early part of the period affords such an admirable example in Bunyan, while the later part offers one not much less admirable in Defoe, is scarcely less perceptible in all the three writers just mentioned, Dryden, Temple, and Halifax, and in their three great successors. Swift, Addison, and Steele. Addison classicizes the most of the six, but Addison's style cannot be called exotic. The ordinary English of the streets and the houses helped these men to reform the long sentence, with its relatives and its conjunctions, clumsily borrowed from Latin, to reject inversions and involu- tions of phrase that had become bewildering in the absence of the clue of inflexional sounds, to avoid attempts at oratio obliqua for which the syntax, of the language is ill fitted, to be plain, straightforward, unadorned. It is true that in rejecting what they thought, in many instances rightly, to be barbarisms, they to a great extent lost the secret of a splendour which had xxiv ENGLISH PROSE STYLE. been by no means exclusively or often barbaric. They were unrivalled in vigour, not easily to be beaten in sober gracei abundantly capable of wit, but as a rule they lacked magnifi- cence, and prose was with them emphatically a sermo fiedestris. Except in survivors of the older school, it is difficult to find in post-Restoration prose an impassioned passage. When the men of the time wished to be impassioned they thought it proper to drop into poetry. South's satire on the " fringes of the North-star" and other Taylorisms expresses their attitude very happily. It is hardly an accident that Dryden's subjects, capable though the writer was of giving literary expression to every form of thought and feeling, never in prose lead him to the inditing of anything exalted ; that Temple gives a half sarcastic turn to the brief but exquisite passage on life which closes his essay on poetry ; that Addison's renowned homilies on death and tombs and a future life have rather an unrivalled decency, a propriety that is quintessential, than solemnity in the higher sense of the term. The lack of ornament in the prose of this period is never perhaps more clearly shown than in the style of Locke, which, though not often absolutely incorrect, is to me, 1 frankly own, a disgusting style, bald, dull, plebeian, giving indeed the author's meaning, but giving it ungraced with any due appa- ratus or ministry. The defects, however, were for the most part negative. The writers of this time, at least the greater of them, spoilt nothing that they touched, and for the most part omitted to touch subjects 'for which their style was not suited. The order, lucidity, and proportion of Dryden's criticism, the ease and well-bred loquacity of Temple and the essayists, the mild or rough polemic of Halifax and Bentley, the incom- parable ironic handlmg of Swift, the narrative and pictorial faculty, so sober and yet so vivid, of Bunyan and Defoe, are never likely to be surpassed in English literature. The genera- ENGLISH PROSE STYLE. xxv tion which equals the least of them may be proud of its feat. This period, moreover, it must never be forgotten, was not merely a great period in itself as regarded production, but the schoolmaster of all periods to follow. It settled what the form, the technical form, of English prose was to be, and settled it once for all. A It is not usual to think or speak of the eighteenth century as reactionary, and yet, in regard to its prose style, it to some extent deserves this title. The peculiarities of this prose, the most famous names among whose practitioners are Johnson and Gibbon, exhibit a decided reaction against the plainness and i vernacular energy which, as has bean said, characterized writers | from Dryden to Swift. Lord Chesterfield's well-known denun- ciation of proverbial phrases in speaking and writing, and the Latinisms of the extreme Johnsonian style, may seem to have but little to do with each other, but they express in different ways the revolt of the fine gentleman and the revolt of the scholar against the simplicity and homeliness of the style which had gone before. The men of 1660-1720 had not been afraid of Latinisms, but they had not sought them : the ampullce et ses- quipedalia verba of Johnson at his worst were by no means peculiar to himself, but may be found alike in the prose and the verse of writers over whom he exercised little or no influence. The altered style, however, in the hands of capable men became somewhat more suitable for the dignified branches of sustained prose-writing. We shall never have a greater historian in style as well as in matter than Gibbon ; in style at least we have not beaten Hume, though there has been more than a century to do it in. Berkeley belongs mainly to the latest school of seven- teenth century writers, to the Queen Anne men, but partly also to th^ eighteenth century proper; and he, again with Hume as a second, is as unlikely to be surpassed in mastery of philoso- xxvi ENGLISH PROSE STYLE. phical style as Gibbon and Hume are unlikely to be surpassed in the style of history. Nor were there wanting tendencies and influences which counteracted to a great extent the striving at elaboration and dignity. The chief of these was the growth of the novel. This not only is in itself a kind unfriendly to the pompous style, but happened to attract to its practice the great genius of Fielding, which was from nothing so averse as from everything that had the semblance or the reality of pretension, pedantry, or conceit. Among the noteworthy writers of the time, not a few stand apart from its general tendencies, and others exhibit only part of those tendencies. The homely and yet graceful narrative of the author of Peter Wilkins derives evidently from Defoe ; the comtndrage of the letters of Walpole, Gray, and others, is an attempt partly to imitate French models, partly to reproduce the actual talk of society ; Sterne's delibe- rate eccentricity is an adaptation, as genius of course adapts, of Rabelais and Burton, while the curious and inimitable badness of the great Bishop Butler's form is evidently due, not like Locke's, to carelessness and contempt of good literary manners, but to some strange idiosyncrasy of defect. On the whole, however, the century not merely added immortal examples to English prose, but contributed not a little to the further per- fecting of the general instrument. A novelist like Fielding, a historian like Gibbon, a philosopher like Hume, an orator and publicist like Burke, could not write without adding to the capa- cities of prose in the hands of others as well as to its perfor- mances in their own. They gave a further extension to the system of modulating sentences and clauses with a definite regard to harmony. Although there may be too much monotony in his method, it seems unlikely that Gibbon will soon be sur- passed in the art of arranging the rhythm of a sentence of not inconsiderable length without ever neglecting co-ordination. ENGLISH PROSE STYLE. xxvii and, at the same time, without ever committing the mistake of exchanging the rhythm proper to prose for the metre which is proper to poetry. Much the same may be said of Burke when he is at his best, while 'two earlier ornaments of the period, Bolingbroke and Conyers Middleton, though their prose is less rhythmical, are scarcely less remarkable for a deliberate and systematic arrangement of the sentence within itself and of the sentences in the paragraph. To enumerate separate particulars in which the eighteenth and late seventeenth centuries subjected English prose to laws would be rather appropriate to a manual of composition than to an essay like the present. For instance, such details as the reform of punctuation, and especially the more frequent use of the full stop, as thg avoidance of the homoeoteleuton, and if possible of the same word, unless used emphatically, in the same sentence, can be only very sum- marily referred to. But undoubtedly the matter of principal importance was the practice, which as a regular practice began with Dryden and was perfected in Gibbon, of balancing and proportioning the sentence. Of course there are numerous or innumerable examples of exquisitely proportioned sentences in Milton and his contemporaries, but that is not to the point. What is to the point is such a sentence as the following from the Areopagitica : — "But if his rear and flanks be not impaled, if his back-door be not secured by the rigid licenser but that a bold book may now and then issue forth and give the assault to some of his old collections in their trenches, it will concern him then to keep waking, to stand in watch, to set good guards and sentinels about his received opinions, to walk the round and counter-round with his fellow-inspectors, fearing lest any of his flock be seduced, who then also would be better instructed, better exercised and disciplined:' Here the sentence begins excel- lently, winds up the height to " trenches," and descends again xxviii ENGLISH PROSE STYLE. in an orderly and regular fashion to "seduced." There in sense, in sound, by all the laws of verbal architecture it should stop, but the author has an afterthought, and he tacks on the words italicised, thereby ruining the balance of his phrase, and adding an unnecessary and disturbing epexegesis to his thought. Had Milton lived a hundred years later he would no more have committed this merely careless and inerudite fault than Gibbon would. Like all rules of general character, the balancing of the sen- tence has of course its difficulties and its dangers. Carried out on principles too uniform, or by means too obvious, it becomes monotonous and disgusting. It is a considerable encourage- ment to sonorous platitude, and (as satirists have sometimes amused themselves by showing) it can easily be used to dis- guise and carry off the simply unmeaning. When Mrs. St. Clair in The Inheritance uttered that famous sentenc^, " Happy the country whose nobles are thus gifted with the power of reflecting kindred excellence, and of perpetuating national virtue on the broad basis of private friendship," she owed every- thing to the fact that she was born after Dr. Johnson. Very large numbers of public speakers in and out of pulpits were, during the time that prose rhythm by means of balance was enforced or expected, in a similar case of indebtedness. But the amount of foolish speech and writing in the world has not appreciably lessened since every man became a law unto him- self in the matter of composition, and for my part I own, though it may be immoral, that I prefer a platitude which seems as if it might have some meaning, and at any rate sounds well as sound, to a platitude which is nakedly and cacophonously platitudinous or senseless. The Latinizing of the language was a greater evil by far, but one of no lasting continuance. No permanent harm came to English literature from Johnson's noted ENGLISH PROSE. STYLE. xxix second thought about vitality and putrefaction^ or from Arm- strong's singular fancy (it is true this was in verse) for calling a cold bath a gelid cistern. The fashion rose, lived, died, as fashions do. But beauty looks only a little less beautiful in the ugliest fashion, and so the genius and talent of the eighteenth century showed themselves only to a little less advantage because of their predilection for an exotic vocabulary. No harm was done, but much good, to the theory and practice of verbal architecture, and if inferior material was sometimes used, (Time has long since dealt with each builder's work in his usual just and equal fashion.A With the eighteenth century speaking generally — with Burke and Gibbon speaking particularly — what may be called the con- sciously or unconsciously formative period of English prose came to an end. In the hundred years that have since passed we have had not a few prose writers of great genius, many of extreme talent. But they have all either deliberately innovated upon or obediently followed, or carefully neglected, the two great principles which were established between 1660 and 1760, the principle, that is to say, which limited the meaning of a sentence to a moderately complex thought in point of matter, and that which admitted the necessity of balance and coherent structure in point of form. One attempt at the addition of a special kind of prose, an attempt frequently made but fore- doomed to failure, I shall have to notice, but only one. The great period of poetical production which began with the French Revolution and lasted till about 1830, saw also much prose of merit. Coleridge, Southey, Shelley, are eminent exam- ples in both prose and verse, while Wordsworth, Byron, Moore, and others, come but little behind. Scott, the most voluminous of all except perhaps Southey in prose composition, occupies a rather peculiar position. The astonishing rapidity of his pro- XXX ENGLISH PROSE STYLE. duction, and his defective education (good prose-writing is far more a matter of scholarship than good verse-writing), may- have had a somewhat injurious influence on his style ; but this style has on the whole been rated much too low, and at its best is admirable English. The splendour, however, of the poetical production of the later Georgian period in poetry no doubt eclipsed its production in prose, and as a general rule that prose was rather even and excellent in general charac- teristics than eminent or peculiar in special quality. Tht same good sense which banished an artificial vocabulary from poetry achieved the banishing of it from prose. But except that it is always a little less stiff, and sometimes a little more negligent, the best prose written by men of middle or advanced age when George the Third was dying does not differ very greatly from the best prose written by men of middle or ad- vanced age when he came to the throne. The range of subjects, the tone of thought, might be altered, the style was very much the same ; in fact, there can be very little doubt that while the poets deliberately rebelled against their predecessors, the prose writers, who were often thfe same persons in another func- tion, deliberately followed, if they did not exactly imitate them. It was not until the end of this period of brilliant poetry that certain persons more or less deliberately set themselves to revolutionize English prose, as the poets for a full generation had been revolutionizing English verse. I say more or less deliberately, for the revived fashion of " numerous '' prose which one man of genius and one man of the greatest talent, Thomas de Quincey and John Wilson, proclaimed, which others seem to have adopted without much of set purpose, and which, owing especially to the great example of Mr. Ruskin, has enlisted so large a following, was in its origin partial and casual. The in- ducers of this style have hardly had due honour or due dis- ENGLISH PROSE STYLE. xxxi honour, for what they have done is not small, whatever may be thought of its character. Indeed, at the present day, among a very large proportion of general readers, and among a certain number of critics, " style " appears to be understood in the sense of ornate and semi-metrical style. A work which is " not re- markable for style" is a work which does not pile up the adjectives, which abstains from rhythm so pronounced and regular that it ceases to be rhythm merely and becomes metre, which avoids rather than seeks the drawing of attention to originality of thought by singularity of expression, and which worships no gods but proportion, clearness, closeness of ex- pression to idea, and (within the limits incident to prose) rhythmical arrangement. To confess the truth, the public has so little prose of this latter quality put before it, and is so much accustomed to find that every writer whose style is a little above the school exercise, and his thought a little above plati- tude, aims at the distinction of prose-poet, that it has some excuse for its blunder. That it is a blunder I shall endeavour to show a little later. For the present, it is sufficient to indicate the period of George the Fourth's reign as the beginning of the flamboyant style in modern English prose. Besides the two persons just mentioned, whose writings were widely distributed in periodicals, three other great masters of prose, though not inclined to the same form of prose-poetry, did not a little to break down the tradition of English prose in which sobriety was the chief thing aimed at. These were Carlyle, with his Germanisms of phrase and his sacrifice (not at all German) of order to emphasis in arrangement; Macaulay with his spasmodic clause and his endless fire of snapping antitheses ; and lastly, with not much influence on the general reader, but with much on the special writer, Landor, who together with much prose that is nearly perfect, gave the innovators the countenance c xxxii ENGLISH PROSE STYLE. of an occasional leaning to the florid and of a neo-classicism which was sometimes un-English. It is the nature of man to select the worst parts of his models for imitation. Side by side with these great innovators there were no doubt many and very excellent practitioners of the older and simpler style. Southey. survived and Lockhart flourished as accom- plished examples of it in one great literary organ ; the in- fluence of Jefl'rey was exerted rather vigorously than wisely to maintain it in another. Generally speaking, it was not admitted before 1850 that the best models for a young man in prose could be any other than the chief ornaments of English literature from Swift and Addison to Gibbon and Burke. The examples of the great writers above mentioned, however, could not fail to have a gradual effect ; and, as time passed, more and more books came to be written in which one of two things was evident. The one was that the author had tried to write a prose-poem as far as style was concerned, the other that he was absolutely without principles of style. I can still find no better instance of this literary antinomianism than I found ten years ago in Grote's history, where there is simply no style at all. The chief political speeches and the most popular philosophical works of the day supply examples of this anti- nomian eminence in other departments, although, as their authors are living, it may be impertinent to name them. Take Grote and compare him with Hume, Gibbon, or even Thirlwall ; take almost any chief speaker of either House and compare him with Burke or Canning or Lord Lyndhurst ; take almost any living philosopher and compare him with Berkeley, with Hume, or even with Mill, and the difference is obvious at once. As history, as politics, as philosophy, the later examples may be excellent — no opinion on that point will be given here. But as examples of style they are not comparable with the earlier. ENGLISH PROSE STYLE.. xxxiii In the department of luxuriant ornament, the example of Mr. Ruskin may be said to have rendered all other examples comparatively superfluous. From the date of the first ap- pearance of Modern Painters, the prose-poetry style has more and more engrossed attention and imitation. It has invaded history, permeated novel writing, affected criticism so largely that those who resist it in that department are but a scattered remnant. It is unnecessary to quote instances, for the fact is very little likely to be gainsaid, and if it is gainsaid at all, will certainly not be gainsaid by any person who has frequent and copious examples of English style coming befofe him for criticism. At the same time the period of individualism has given rise, as a former period of something like individualism did in the seventeenth century, to some great and to many remarkable writers. Of these, so far as they have not been distinguished by an adherence to the ornate style, and so far as they have not, with the disciples of literary incuria, let style go to the winds altogether, Mr. Carlyle was during all his later days the chief, and in not a few cases the model. But he had seconds in the work, in many of whom literary genius to a great extent sup- plied the want of academic correctness. Thackeray, with some remarkable slovenlinesses (he is probably the last writer of the first eminence of whom the enemy " and which" has made a conquest), elaborated, rather it would seem by practice and natural genius, than in the carrying out of any theory, a style which for the lighter purposes of literature has no rival in urbanity, flexibility, arid width of range since Addison, and which has found the widest acceptance among men of letters. Dickens again, despite very great faults of bad taste and man- nerism, did not lack the qualities of a grftat writer. This is sufficiently shown in the excellent storm passage in David ENGLISH PROSE STYLE. ierfield, as well as in not a few others scattered over his works. He seldom had occasion for a sustained effort of this kind, and the "tricks and manners" to which he was so unfortunately given lent themselves but too easily to imitation. Of the many writers of merit who stand beside and below these two space here forbids detailed mention. There are also many earlier authors who, either because they have been merely excep- tional, or because they have been examples of tendencies which others have exhibited in a more characteristic manner, have not been noticed specially in the foregoing sketch. To take the last century only, Cobbett ranks with Bunyan and Defoe as the third of a trio of deliberately vernacular writers. The exquisite grace and charm of Lamb, springing in part no doubt from an imita- tion, of the unreformed writers, especially Fuller, Browne, and Burton, had yet in it so much of idiosyncrasy that it has never been and is never likely to be successfully imitated. Peacock, an accomplished scholar and a master of irony, has a peculiarity which is rather one of thought than of style, of viewpoint towards the world at large than of expression of the views taken. The late Lord Beaconsfield, unrivalled at epigram and detached phrase, very frequently wrote and sometimes spoke below himself, and in particular committed the fault of sub- stituting for a kind of English Voltairian style, which no one could have brought to greater perfection if he had given his mind to it, corrupt foUowings of the sensibility and philo sophism of Diderot and the mere grandiloquence of Buffon. In the same way, in the earlier and longer period, there are many names which, though claiming a place of right in the his- tory of English prose, cannot claim a place in an essay on that history, while in some cases they have had to be excluded even from the list of selections. Many excellent theologians and sermon- writers have been shut out because the admission of one ENGLISH PROSE STYLE. xxxv would require the admission of all. Philosophers of the second class are in the same case. The older novelists who are dead and the modem novelists who are dying cannot here be mum- mified, nor can anything but the faintest taste be given of the vast mass of periodical literature which has been produced in these latter days. Except in regard to peculiarities which are exclusively the peculiarities of recent writers, and which there- fore fall out of the scheme, the main characteristics of English prose are, it is believed, here given in the work of their most distinguished representatives. Vixere fortes, many of them, outside the lists of this or any similar undertaking. But they must, in the words of Wharton's sarcasm to Harley's twelve peers, here applied with no sarcastic intent, "speak through their foreman," or the foremen of their several classes. Thus then the course of English prose style presents, in little, the following picture. Beginning for the most part with trans- lations from Latin or French, with prose versions of verse writings, and with theological treatises aiming more at edifica- tion, and at the edification of the vulgar, than at style, it was not till after the invention of printing that it attempted perfection oL form. But in its early strivings it was much hindered, first by the persistent attempt to make an uninflected do the duty of an inflected language, and secondly, by the curious flood of con- ceits which accompanied, or helped, or were caused by the Spanish aad Italian influences of the sixteenth and early seven- teenth centuries. In the latter period we find men of the greatest genius producing singularly uneven and blemished work, owing to the want of an accepted theory and practice of style ; each man writing as seemed good in his own eyes, and selecting not merely his vocabulary (as to that a great freedom, and rightly, has always prevailed in England), but his arrange- ment of clauses and sentences, and even to some extent his xxxvi ENGLISH PROSE STYLE. syntax. To this period of individualism an end was put by Dryden, whose example in codifying and reforming was fol- lowed for nearly a century. During this period the syntactical part of English grammar was settled very nearly as it has hitherto remained; the limitation of the sentence to a single moderately sirjiple proposition, or at most to two or three pro- positions closely connected in thought, was effected; the ar- rangement of the single clause was prescribed as nearly as pos- sible in the natural order of vocal speech, inversions being reserved as an exception and a license for the production of ■ some special effect; the use of the parenthesis was (perhaps unduly) discouraged ; and a general principle was established that the cadence as well as the sense of a sentence should rise gradually toward the middle, should if necessary continue there on a level for a brief period, and should then descend in a gradation corresponding to its ascent. These principles were observed duringthe whole of the eighteenth century, and with little variation during the first quarter of the nineteenth, a certain range of liberty being given by the increasing subdivi- sion of the subjects of literature, and especially by the growth of fiction and periodical writing on more or less ephemeral matters. The continuance of this latter process, the increased study of foreign (especially German) literature, the disuse of Greek and Latin as the main instruments of education, and the example of eminent or popular writers, first in small and then in great numbers, have during the last fifty years induced a re- turn of individualism. This has in most cases taken the form either of a neglect of regular and orderly style altogether, or of the preference of a highly ornamented diction and a poetical rather than prosaic rhythm. The great mass of writers belong to the first division, the smaller number who take some pains about the ordering of their sentences almost entirely to the second. ENGLISH PROSE STYLE. xxxvii That this laboured and ornate manner will not last very long is highly probable, that it should last long would be out of keeping with experience. But it is not so certain that its dis- appearance will be followed by anything like a return to the simplicity of theory and practice in style which, while it left eighteenth-century and late seventeenth-century authors full room to display individual talents and peculiarities, still caused between them the same resemblance which exists in examples of an order of architecture or of a natural species. So much has been said about the balancing of the sentence, and the rhythm appropriate to prose and distinct from metre, that the reader may fairly claim to be informed somewhat more minutely of the writer's views on the subject. They will have to be put to a certain extent scholastically, but the thing is really a scholastic question, and the impatience with " iambs and pentameters," which Mr, Lowell (a spokesman far too good for such a breed) condescended to express some forty years ago on behalf of the vulgar, is in reality the secret of much of the degradation of recent prose. In dealing with this subject I shall have to affront an old prejudice which has apparently become young again, the prejudice which deems terms of quantity in- applicable to the English and other modern languages. The truth is, that the metrical symbols and system of scansion which the genius of the Greeks invented, are applicable to all Euro- pean languages, though (and this is where the thoroughgoing defenders of accent against quantity make their blunder) the quantity of particular syllables is much more variable. In other words, there are far more common syllables in English and other modern languages than in Latin, or even in the language of those Quibus est nihil negatum Et quels " ares ares " licet sonare. xxxviii ENGLISH PROSE STYLE. A Greek would have laughed heartily enough at the notion that the alternative quantity of Ares made it impossible to scan Homer regularly, and so may an Englishman, even though a very large number of syllables (not by any means all) in his language are capable of being made long or short according to the pleasure of the writer and the exigencies of the verse. All good English verse, from the rudest ballad of past centuries to the most elaborate harmonies of Mr. Swinburne and Lord Tennyson, is capable of being exhibited in metrical form as strict in its final, if not in its initial laws, as that which governs the prosody of Horace or of Euripides. Most bad Enghsh verse is capable of having its badness shown by the application of the same tests. In using therefore longs and shorts, and the divisions of classical metre from Pyrrhic to dochmiac, in order to exhibit the characteristics of English prose rhythm and the differences which it exhibits from the metre which is verse rhythm, I am using disputed means deliberately and with the fullest intention and readiness to defend them if required.' I take it that the characteristic of metre — that is to saj', poetic rhythm — is not only the recurrence of the same feet in the same line, but also the recurrence of corresponding and similar ar- rangements of feet in different lines. The Greek chorus, and in a less degree the English pindaric, exhibit the first characteristic scantly, but they make up, in the one case by a rigid, and in the other by what ought to be a rigid, adherence to the second. In all other known forms of literary European verse, Greek, Latin, English, French, Italian, Spanish, German, both re- quirements are complied with in different measure or degree, ' It has been pointed out to me, since the following remarks were written, that t might have sheltered myself under a right reverend precedent in the shape of some criticism of Kurd's on the rhythmical peculiarities of Addison. I do so now all the more willingly, that no one who compares the two passages will suspect me of merely following the bishop. ENGLISH PROSE STYLE. xxxix from the cast-iron regularity of the Latin alcaic to the wide license of a Greek comic senarius or an English anapaestic tetrameter. In blank verse or in couplets every verse is (certain equivalent values being once recognized) exactly equal to every other verse. In stanzas from the quatrain to the Spenserian the parallelism, if more intricate, is equally exact. Now the requirement of a perfect prose rhythm is that, while it admits of indication by quantity-marks, and even by divisions into feet, the simplicity and equivalence of feet within the clause answering to the line are absent, and the exact correspondence of clause for clause, that is to say, of line for line, is absent also, and still more necessarily absent. Let us take an example. I know no more perfect example of English prose rhythm than the famous verses of the last chapter of the Canticles in the Authorized Version ; I am not certain that I know any so perfect. Here they are arranged for the purpose of exhibition in clause- lines, quantified and divided into feet. Set me | as a seal | upun thine heart | as a seal | upon thine arm ) ForiSve | is strCn^ | as death | jealousy | is crilel | as the grave | The coals thereof | are coals | of fire ] which hath | a must ve | hement flame | Many waters | cannot quench love [ neither | can the floods | dr5wn it | If a man [ should give | all the sub ) stance | of his house 1 for love 1 it should ut | terly be contemned. | I by no means give the quantification of this, or the dis- tribution into lines and feet as final or impeccable, though I think it is, on the whole — as a good elocutionist would read the passage — accurate enough. But the disposition will, I think, be sufficient to convince anyone who has an ear and a slight acquaintance with res metrica, that here is a system of rhythm irreducible to poetic form. The movement of the whole is perfectly harmonious, exquisitely modulated, finally complete. But it is the harmony of perfectly modulated speech, not of song ; harmony, in short, but not melody, divisible into clauses, xl ENGLISH PROSE STYLE. but not into bars or staves, having parts which continue each other, but do not correspond to each other. A similar example may be found in the almost equally beautiful Charity passage of the First Epistle to the Corinthians, and if the reader likes to see how the sense of rhythm flourishes in these days, he may compare that with the version which has been substituted for it by the persons called Revisers. But let us take an example of different kind and of less elaborate but still beautiful form, the already cited close of Sir William Temple's Essay on Poetry : — "When all is done, human life is at the greatest and the best but like a froward child, that must be played with and humoured a little to keep it quiet till it falls asleep, and then the care is over." Here the division is that which has been noted as the usual one in eighteenth century prose, an arsis (to alter the use of the word a little) as far as " child," a level space of progress till "asleep," and then a thesis, here unusually brief, but quite sufficient for the purpose. But here also the movement is quite different from that of poetry. Part of the centre clause, " but like a froward child that must be played with," may indeed be twisted into something like a heroic, but there is nothing cor- responding to it eariier or later, and the twisting itself is violent and unnatural, for the clause or prose-line does not begin at '' but," and does not end at " with." Here is yet another and longer passage, this time from Mr. Ruskin, who, though he has by no means always observed the distinction we are discussing, and has taught many maladroit imitators to neglect it, is, when he is at his best, thoroughly sound. The sentence chosen shall be a long one, such as the writer loves : — " He did not teach them how to build for glory and for ENGLISH PROSE STYLE. xli beauty, He did not give them the fearless, faithful, inherited energies that worked on and down from death to death, gene- ration after generation, that we might give the work of their poured-out spirit to the axe and to the hammer : He has not cloven the earth with rivers that their wild white waves might turn wheels and push paddles, nor turned it up under, as it were fire, that it might heat wells and cure diseases : He brings not up His quails by the east wind only to let them fall in flesh about the camp of men : He has not heaped the rocks of the mountain only for the quarry, nor clothed the grass of the field only for the oven." At first sight it may seem that this admirable passage- (the brilliant effect of which is not in the least due to spilth of adjectives, or to selection of exotic words, or to eccentricity of word-order, for the vocabulary is very simple and plain, and the order is quite natural) incurs some of the blame due to the merely conglomerate sentence, in which the substitution of full- stops for colons or commas is sufficient to break up the whole into independent wholes. But it does not, and it is saved from this condemnation not merely by the close connection of its matter, but by the arrangement of its form. The separate members have a varying but compensating harmony, and the ascent and descent of the sentence never finally ends till the last word, which has been led up to by a most cunning and in no invidious sense prosaic concatenation of rhythm. Mr. Ruskin, it is true, is not always impeccable. In a fine passage of The Harbours of England (too long for quotation, but which may be conveniently found at p. 378 of the Selections from his works) I find the following complete heroics imbedded in the prose : — " Hot in the morning sun, rusty and seamed." " The grass of spring, the soft white cloud of foam." xlu ENGLISH PROSE STYLE. " Fading or flying high into the breeze." " Brave lives dashed Away about the rattling beach like weeds." " Still at the helm of every lonely boat. Through starless night and hopeless dawn. His hand." Now this is wrong, though of course it is impossible always to avoid a complete heroic cadence. So is it, also, with a very- elaborate, and in its somewhat illegitimate way, very beautiful passage of Charles Kingsley, which will be in all recollections, the Dream of Amyas at the Devil's Limekiln. This sins not by conscious or unconscious insertions of blank verse, but by the too definitely regular and lyrical sweep of the rhythm in the words, " I saw the grand old galleon," etc. This is the great difficulty of very ornate prose, that it is constantly tending to overstep the line between the two rhythms. When this fault is avoided, and the prose abides strictly by its own laws, and draws its ornament, not from aniline dyes of vocabulary, but from harmony of arrangement, nothing can be more beautiful and more satisfactory. But in fact such prose does not differ at all in kind from satisfactory specimens of the simpler style, and it was De Quincey's great critical fault that he not only overlooked but denied this identity in his scornful criticisms of the style of Swift and other severe writers. The same principles are applied with more or less elaboration as the case may be, the criterion of appropriateness in each case being the nature of the subject and the circumstances of the utterance. It is because the rule of prose writing is in this way so entirely a /loXipSivoe xavwv, because between the limits of caco- phony on the one hand and definitely metrical effect on the other, the practitioner must always choose and can never merely follow, that prose writing is so difficult, that the ex- amples of great eminence in it are so rare, and that even these examples are for the most part so unequal. It is easy to pro- ENGLISH PROSE STYLE. xliii duce long passages of English poetry which are absolutely flawless, which, each according to its own plan and require- ments, could not be better. It is by no means easy to produce long passages of English prose, or of any prose, of which as much can be said. The artist lacks the help of obvious and striking error which he possesses in poetry. In poetry, as in the typewriter on which I write these words, a bell rings loudly to warn of certain simple dangers. The muse of prose is silent, however awkwardly her suitors make love to her. In arranging the passages which follow, not the least difficulty has been the occurrence of these sudden flaws and inequalities in specimens otherwise admirable. Omission, even indicated by asterisks, would have been fatal to the attainment of the object, which is to show the author's style in every case as the author wrote it, and not a remaniement by the editor. In some few cases passages exhibiting a glaring drop in style have been purposely chosen, but as a rule this naturally had to be avoided. In the simpler style there is of course less danger of flaws — Swift is often quite impeccable — but as the style rises the danger increases. I do not think that even in Landor or in Mr. Ruskin, the most accomplished, as the most opposed, EngUsh writers of the elaborate style during this century, it is possible to find an unbroken passage of very considerable length which is absolutely faultless. This art of rhythmical arrangement, applicable in sen- tences so simple as that quoted from Temple, as much as in sentences so complex as that quoted from Mr. Ruskin, applicable indeed in sentences much simpler than the one and even more complicated (though such complication may be perhaps best avoided) than the other, is undoubtedly the principal thing in prose. Applied in its simplest forms, it is constantly missed by the vulgar, but is perhaps productive of xliv ENGLISH PROSE STYLE. not least pleasure to the critic. Of its subsidiary arts and arrangements of art space would fail me to speak at length, but the two most important articles, so important, indeed, that with the architectural process they may be said to form the three great secrets of prose success, are simplicity of language, and directness of expression in the shorter clause and phrase. It is against these two that the pseudo-stylists of our day sin most constantly. A gaudy vocabulary is thought a mark of style : a non-natural, twisted, allusive phrase is thought a mark of it. Now no reasonable person, certainly no competent critic, will advocate a gris&tre style ; all that such a critic will contend for is a remembrance of the rule of the Good Clerk, — "Red ink for ornament and black for use." There are occasions for red ink in prose writing, no doubt; but they are not every man's occasions, nor are they for the men whose occasions they are on every day or on every sub- ject. Not only the test passages taken above, but most of those which follow in the text, will show what extreme error, what bad art, what blind lack of observation, is implied in the peppering and salting of sentence after sentence with strange words or with familiar words used strangely. It is not wanted to produce the effect aimed at ; it may safely be added that it produces the effect aimed at only in the case of persons who are not competent to judge whether the mark has been hit. Obscu- rity of phrase, on the other hand, is only a more venial crime than gaudiness of language because it takes a little more trouble on the part of the sinner. It is at least as bad in itself. It may safely be laid down that in almost any case where the phrase is not comprehended as soon as read by a person of decent in- telligence and education — in almost any case where, without quite exceptional need for emphasis or for attracting his atten- ENGLISH PHOSE STYLE. xlv tion, a non-natural, involved, laboured diction is used — in almost any case where, as Addison has it of Durfey, " words are brought together that, without his good offices, would never have been acquainted with one another, so long as it had been a tongue " — there is bad style. Exceptions there are, no doubt, as in the other case; the fault, as always, is in making the exception the rule. To conclude, the remarks which have been made in this Essay are no doubt in many cases disputable, probably in some cases mistaken. They are given, not as dogma, but as doxaj not as laws to guide practitioners whose practice is very likely better than the lawgiver's, but as the result of a good many years' reading of the English literature of all ages with a constantly critical intent. And of that critical intent one thing can be said with confidence, that the presence and the observation of it, so far from injuring the delight of reading, add to that delight in an extraordinary degree. It infuses toleration in the study of the worst writers — for there is at any rate the result of a discovery or an illustration of some secret of badness ; it heightens the pleasure in the perusal of the best by transforming a confused into a rational appreciation. I do not think that keeping an eye on style ever interfered with attention to matter in any competent writer ; I am quite sure that it never interfered with that attention in any competent reader. Less obvious, more contestable in detail, far more difficult of continuous observance than the technical ex- cellences of verse, the technical excellences of prose demand, if a less rare, a not less alert and vigorous exercise of mental power to produce or to appreciate them. Nor will any time spent in acquiring pleasant and profitable learning be spent to much better advantage than the time necessary to master the principles and taste the expression of what has been called, by a master of both, " the other harmony of prose." xlvi ENGLISH PROSE STYLE. POSTSCRIPT. The plan of the following Specimens tiiill have been partly perceived from the foregoing Essay. A more direct and elaborate explanation of it would perhaps be out of place. Lectori bene- volo supervacanea, nihil curat malevolus. // is sufficient to say that the endeavour has been to provide, not a book of beauties, but a collection of characteristic examples of written style. This being so, examples of what may be called spoken style j — that is to say, letters, drama, and oratory, have been for the most part ex- cluded, the first and last being in some rare cases admitted when it was diffictdt otherwise to exhibit the powers of some admitted master of prose. For a somewhat different reason, prose fiction has been but scantily drawn upon. For convenience' sake the terminus a quo has been fixed at the invention of printing: con- siderations of space, which with others from the first shut out living writers, have led to the infei'ior birth-limit being fixed at 1800. The head-notes aim only at the briefest outline of biographical information, and sometimes of general criticism, which will be found not unfrequently supplemented in the Essay. The foot-notes are intended to give such information on points both of matter and form as may be sufficient to prevent a reader of average intelligence and information from being molested in his reading by obvious difficulties. It should be added that in the selection of the passages I have received con- siderable assistance, though the final responsibility for their choice is in all cases tnine. In the case of the Essay and the Notes this responsibility is both final and initial. G. S. SIR THOMAS MALORY. Nothing is known of the life of Sir Thomas Malory or Maleore. He is said to have been a Welshman and not Sir Knight but Sir Priest. He finished his work in the ninth year of King Edward the Fourth^ and it was printed by Caxton in 1485. Compilation as it is, it has catight the whole spirit a?id beauty of the Arthurian legends, and is one of the first monufnents of accomplished English prose. THE DEATH OF LANCELOT. OH ye mighty and pompous lords, winning in tlie glory tran- sitory of this unstable life, as in reigning over great realms and mighty great countries, fortified with strong castles and towers, edified with many a rich city : Ye also, ye fierce and mighty knights, so valiant in adventurous deeds of arms, behold, behold, see how this mighty conqueror King Arthur, whom in his human life all the world doubted, yea also the noble Queen Guenever, which sometime sat in her chair adorned with gold, pearls, and precious stones, now lie full low in obscure foss or pit covered with clods of earth and clay. Behold also this mighty champion Sir Launcelot, peerless of all knighthood, see now how he lieth grovelling upon the cold mould, now being so feeble and faint, that sometime was so terrible, how and in what manner ought ye to be so desirous of worldly honour so dangerous. Therefore me thinketh this present book is right necessary often to be read, for in all ye find the most gracious, knightly and virtuous war of the most noble knights of the world, whereby they got praising continually. Also me seemeth by the oft reading thereof, ye shall greatly desire to accustom yourself in E 2 SIR THOMAS MA LOU Y. the following of those gracious knightly deeds, that is to say, to dread God and to love righteousness, faithfully and courageously to serve your sovereign Prince. And the more that God hath given you the triumphal honour, the meeker ye ought to be, ever fearing the unstableness of this deceitful world, and so I pass over and turn again unto my matter. So within six weeks after Sir Launcelot fell sick, and lay in his bed ; and then he sent for the bishop that there was hermit, and all his true fellows. Then Sir Launcelot said with dreary steven : " Sir Bishop, I pray you that ye will give me all my rights that belongeth unto a Christian man." " It shall not need you," said the hermit and all his fellows, " it is but a heaviness of the blood, ye shall be well amended by the grace of God to- morrow." " My fair lords," said Sir Launcelot, " wit ye well, my careful body will into the earth, I have warning more than I will now say, therefore I pray you give me my rights." So when he was houseled and enealed and had all that a Christian man ought to have, he prayed the bishop that his fellows might bear his body unto Joyous Gard. Some men say Anwick, and some men's say is Bamborow. " Howbeit," said Sir Launcelot, " me repenteth sore, but I made mine avow sometime, that in Joyous Gard I would be buried, andbecauseof breaking of my vow I pray you all lead me thither." Then there was weeping and wringing of hands among all his fellows. So at the season of the night, they went all to their beds, for they all lay in one chamber ; so after midnight against day, the bishop that was hermit, as he lay in his bed asleep he fell on a great laughter ; and therewith the fellowship awoke, and came unto the bishop and asked him what he ailed. " Ah Jesus, mercy," said the bishop, " why did ye awake me, I was never in all my life so merry and so well at ease." " Why, wherefore ? " said Sir Bors. "Truly," said the bishop, "here was Sir Launcelot with me, with more angels than ever I saw men upon one day ; and I saw the angels heave Sir Launcelot towards heaven, and the gates of heaven opened against him." « It is but dretching of swevens," said Sir Bors, "for I doubt not Sir Launcelot aileth nothing but SIS THOMAS MALORY. 3 good." " It may well be," said the bishop, "go ye to his bed, and then shall ye prove the sooth." So when Sir Bors and his fellows came to his bed they found him stark dead, and he lay as he had smiled, and the sweetest savour about him that ever they smelled. Then was there weeping and wringing of hands, and the greatest dole they made that ever made men. And on the morrow the bishop sung his mass of Requiem J and after the bishop and all those nine knights put Sir Launcelot in the seme horse bier that Queen Guenever was laid in before that she was buried. And so the bishop and they altogether went \vith the corpse of Sir Launcelot daily, till they came unto Joyous Gard, and ever they had an hundred torches burning about him. And so within fifteen days they came to Joyous Gard. And there they laid his corpse in the body of the choir, and sung and read many psalters and prayers over him and about him ; and ever his visage was laid open and naked, that all folk might behold him ; for such was the custom in those days that all men of worship should so lie with open visage till that they were buried. And right thus as they were at their service, there came Sir Ector de Maris that had sought seven years all England, Scot- land and Wales, seeking his brother Sir Launcelot. And when Sir Ector de Maris heard such noise and light in the choir of Joyous Gard, he alighted and put his horse away from him, and came into the choir, and there he saw men sing the service full lamentably. And all they knew Sir Ector, but he knew not them. Then went Sir Bors unto Sir Ector, and told him how there lay his brother Sir Launcelot dead. And then Sir Ector threw his shield, his sword and his helm from him, and when he beheld Sir Launcelot's visage, he fell down in a swoon ; and when he awaked it were hard for any tongue to tell the doleful complaints that he made for his brother. " Ah Sir Launcelot," said he, " thou were head of all christian knights." "And now I dare say," said Sir Bors, "that Sir Launcelot there thou liest, thou were never matched of none earthly knight's hands ; and thou were the courteoust knight that ever bare shield ; and thou were the truest friend to thy lover that ever bestrode horse, and thou were the truest lover of 4 SIR THOMAS MALORY. sinful man that ever loved woman ; and thou were the kindest man that ever struck with sword ; and thou were the goodliest person that ever came among press of knights ; and thou were the meekest man and the gentlest, that ever eat in hall among ladies, and thou were the sternest knight to thy mortal foe that ever put spear in the rest" La Morte d^ Arthur. P. I, L I. Winning. J/ this is the right reading, it must mean ^* succeeding^' " having luck*' Perhaps " wemning" i.e. " dwelling^' is better. P. I, L 19. Yourself. The confusum a/ singular and plural in this ivay is com- mon in early modem 'English. In the present case there is some logical defence /or it, the act beiftg in each case individual. P. 2, 1. 9. Steven, "outcry^ *' utterance." P. 2, 1. 18. Houseled and enealed = ** received tJie Eucharist and e:ctre7ne ujtctioti^ as all readers of Shakespeare ought to know. P. 2, 1. 20. Joyous Gard. The curious gloss on this has been incorporated in most editio7is into the speech. It means only that in the attempt to localize the Arthurian myth different Norihumhian fortresses were chosen as the site of Sir Eauncelofs famous hold. P, 2, L 37. Dretcliuigof swevens, *' trofthling aboitt dreams." P.3,1.36. CourteousL Oihers,"crusi€si man amoft^ iht English refermers^ and one of ihe^rst writers v/« tohick thefoUoming extract is toAen, THE DILIGENT BISHOP. AND now I would ask a strange question ; who is the most diligentest bishop and prelate in all England, that passeth all the rest in doing his office ? I can tell, for I know him who it is ; I know him well. But now I think I see you listening and hearkening that I should name him. There is one that passeth all the other, and is the most diligent prelate and preacher in all England. And will ye know who it is ? I will tell you : it is the devil. He is the most diligent preacher of all other ; he is never out of his diocese ; he is never from his cure ; ye shall never find him unoccupied ; he is ever in his parish ; he keepeth residence at all times ; ye shall never find him out of the way, call for him when you will he is ever at home ; the diligentest preacher in all the realm ; he is ever at his plough j no lording nor loitering can hinder him ; he is ever applying his business, ye shall never find him idle I warrant you. And his office is to hinder religion, to maintain superstition, to set up idolatry, to teach all kind of popery. He is ready as c^n be wished for to set forth his plough ; to devise as many ways as can be to deface and obscure God's glor\-. Where the devil is resident, and hath 6 HUGH LATIMER. his plough going, there away with books and up with candles ; away with bibles and up with beads ; away with the light of the gospel, and up with the light of candles, yea, at noon days. Where the devil is resident, that he may prevail, up with all superstition and idolatry ; censing, painting of images, candles, palms, ashes, holy water, and new service of men's inventing ; as though man could invent a better way to honour God \vith, than God himself hath appointed. Down with Christ's cross, up with purgatory pickpurse, up with him, the popish purgatory, I mean. Away with clothing the naked, the poor and impotent, up with decking of images, and gay garnishing of stocks and stones : up with man's traditions and his laws, down with God's traditions and his most holy word. Down with the old honour due to God, and up with the new god's honour. Let all things be done in Latin : there must be nothing but Latin, not so much as Memento homo quod cinis es, et in cinerem reverteris. " Re- member man that thou art ashes, and into ashes shalt thou return," which be the words that the minister speaketh unto the ignorant people, when he giveth them ashes upon Ash- Wednesday, but it must be spoken in Latin. God's word may in no wise be translated into English. Oh that our prelates would "be as diligent to sow the com of good doctrine, as Satan is to sow cockle and darnel ! And this is the devilish ploughing, the which worketh to have things in Latin, and letteth the fruitful edification. But here some man will say to me. What, Sir, are ye so privy of the devil's counsel that ye know all this to be true ? — Truly I know him too well, and have obeyed him a little too much in condescending to some follies ; and I know him as other men do, yea that he is ever occupied, and ever busy in following his plough. I know by Saint Peter, which saith of him, Sicut leo rugiens circuit qucerens quern devoret. " He goeth about like a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour." I would have this text well viewed and examined, every word of it : " Circuit" he goeth about in every corner of his diocese ; he goeth on visitation daily, he leaveth no place of his cure unvisited : he walketh round about from place to place, and ceaseth not. " Sicut leo" as a lion, that is, strongly, boldly, and proudly, stately and fiercely with haughty HUGH LATIMER. 7 looks, with his proud countenances, with his stately braggings. "■Rugiens^' roaring ; for he letteth not slip any occasion to speak or to roar out when he seeth his time. " Qitarefis," he goeth about seeking, and not sleeping, as our bishops do ; but he seeketh diligently, he searcheth diligently all corners, whereas he may have his prey. He roveth abroad in every place of his diocese ; he standeth not still, he is never at rest, but ever in hand with his plough, that it may go forward. But there was never such a preacher in England as he is. Who is able to tell his diligent preaching, which every day, and every hour, laboureth to sow cockle and darnel, that he may bring out of form, and out of estimation and renown, the institution of the Lord's supper and Christ's cross ? For there he lost his right ; for Christ said, Nunc judicium est niuttdi, firinceps seculi hiijus ejicietur foras. Et siait exaltavit Moses serpenlem in deserto, ita exaltavi oportet filiutn hominis. Et aim exaltatus fuero, a terra, omnia traham ad meipsum. " Now is the judgment of this world, and the prince of this world shall be cast out. And as Moses did lift up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the son of man be lift up. And when I shall be lift up from the earth, I will draw all things unto myself." For the devil was disappointed of his pur- pose ; for he thought all to be his own : and when he had once brought Christ to the cross, he thought all cocksure. The Sertnon of the Plough. P. 5, I. 13. Lording nor loitering. It miist be rtme/nhtred that alUteratwn^ though English hadgrmvn out of it to some extent, still exercised considerable in- Jluence. It is therefore ferhaps unnecessary to attempt to give any -aery precise sense to " lording," though " s-Moggering aietii" will give a good enough meaning. P. s, 1. 14. Applying his business, i.q. "plying." P. 6, 1. j6. l\'ote that Latimer himself, despite his tudignafion at Latin, cites the Latin as '.oell as the English of his texts, and cites it fist. U heiher this loas due to mere luibit, or luas a precaution against the charge of garbling, or Toas, as Kitigsley has it, because " apreaclur ■aias nothing thought of in those days '.oho could not prove himself a good Lntincr," may be left ill doubt. P. 7, 1. 23. Cocksure. This '.oord perhaps deserves a note Iccause of the absurd derivation given in some dictionaries, as if from the superiority of firelocks to match- lochs. The idea probably came from the confident gait and voice of^ Chanticleer. SIR THOMAS ELYOT. Sir Tkomas Elyoi -was horn towards the eitd of the fif- teenth century, took his degree at Cambridge in 15C7, was a protigi of Wohey, but survived the Cardinal's fall, was more than once employed on embassies, and died at Carlton in Cambridgeshire in 154O. The Govemour {a hook conceived after the example of Plato and intended to sketch the character and duties of an active citizen) was published in 1531. THE TRUE SIGNIFICATION OF TEMPERANCE A MORAL VIRTUE. THIS blessed company of virtues in this wise assembled, foUoweth Temperance, as a sad and discreet matron and reverent governess, awaiting diligently that in any wise volupty or concupiscence have no preeminence in the soul of man. Aristotle defineth this virtue to be a mediocrity in the pleasures of the body, specially in taste and touching. Therefore he that is temperate fleeth pleasures voluptuous, and with the absence of them is not discontented, and from the presence of them he willingly abstaineth. But in mine opinion, Plotinus, the wonder- ful philosopher, maketh an excellent definition of temperance, saying, that the property or office thereof is to covet nothing which may be repented, also not to exceed the bounds of medio- crity, and to keep desire under the yoke of reason. He that practiseth this virtue is called a temperate man, and he that doeth contrary thereto is named intemperate. Between whom and a person incontinent Aristotle maketh this diversity ; that he is intemperate which by his own election is led, supposing that the pleasure that is present, or, as 1 might say, in ure should alway be followed. But the person incontinent supposeth S/X THOMAS ELYOT. 9 not so, and yet he notwithstanding doth follow it. The same author also maketh a diversity between him that is temperate and him that is continent ; saying, that the continent man is such, one that nothing will do for bodily pleasure which shall stand against reason. The same is he which is temperate, saving that the other hath corrupt desires, which this man lacketh. Also the temperate man delighteth in nothing contrary to reason. But he that is continent delighteth, yet will he not be led against reason. Finally, to declare it in few words, we may well call him a temperate man that desireth the thing which he ought to desire, and as he ought to desire, and when he ought to desire. Notwithstanding there be divers other virtues which do seem to be as it were companions with temperance. Of whom, for the eschewing of tediousness, I will speak now only of two, moderation and soberness, which no man, I suppose, doubteth to be of such efficacy that without them no man may attain unto wiadom, and by them wisdom is soonest espied. The Book named The Governour. p. 8, 1. 5. Mediocrity. The reader will excttse a reminder iJtat the bad sense of mediocrity is, as an exclusive settse^ purely modern. ROGER ASCHAM. Roger Asckam was bam at Kirhy Wiske in Yorkshire in 1515 and died at Londofi in 1568. He •wasamem- ber of St. John's College^ Cambridge, an advocate of classical learning and education, tutor to Queen Elizabeth, and secretary to Edward V 1. 1 Mary, and Elizabeth herself. His English works are the Toxo- philus, 1544, and the Schoolmaster, published after his death. THE WAY OF THE WIND. IN the whole year, Spring-time, Summer, Fall of 'the Leaf, and Winter : and in one day, Morning, Noontime, Afternoon, and Eventide, altereth the course of the weather, the pith of the bow, the strength of the man. And in every one of these times, the weather altereth, as sometime windy, sometime calm, some- time cloudy, sometime clear, sometime hot, sometime cold, the wind sometime moisty and thick, sometime dry and smooth. A little wind in a moisty day stoppeth a shaft more than a good whisking wind in a clear day. Yea, and I have seen when there hath been no wind at all, the air so misty and thick, that both the marks have been wonderful great. And once, when the plague was in Cambridge, the down wind twelve score mark for the space of three weeks was thirteen score and a half, and into the wind, being not very great, a great deal above fourteen score. The wind is sometime plain up and down, which is commonly most certain, and requireth least knowledge, wherein a mean shooter with mean gear, if he can shoot home, ntay make best shift. A side wind trieth an archer and good gear very much. Sometime it bloweth aloft, sometime hard by the ground ; some- ROGER ASCIIAM. ii time it bloweth by blasts, and sometime it continueth all in one ; sometime full side wind, sometime quarter with him and more, and Ukewise against him, as a man with casting up light grass, or else if he take good heed, shall sensibly learn by experience. To see the wind, with a man his eyes, it is impossible, the nature or it is so fine and subtle, yet this experience of the wind had I once myself, and that was in the great snow that fell four years ago. I rode in the highway betwixt Topcliffe upon Swale, and Borough- bridge, the way being somewhat trodden before by wayfaring men. The fields on both sides were plain and lay almiost yard deep with snow, the night before had been a little frost, so that the snow was hard and crusted above. That morning the sun shone bright and dear, the wind was whistling aloft, and sharp according to the time of year. The snow in the highway lay loose and trodden with horse feet : so as the wind blew, it took the loose snow with it, and made it so slide upon the snow in the field which was hard and crusted by reason of the frost over night, that thereby I might see very well the whole nature of the wind as it blew that day. And I had a great delight and pleasure to mark it, which meiketh me now far better to remem- ber it. Sometime the wind would be not past two yards broad, and so it would carry the snow as far as I could see. Another time the snow would blow over half the field at once. Sometime the snow would tumble softly, by and by it would fly wonderful fast. And this I perceived also, that the wind goeth by streams and not whole together. For I should see one stream within a score on me, then the space of two score no snow would stir, but after so much quantity of ground, another stream of snow at the same very time should be carried likewise, but not equally. For the one would stand still when the other flew apace, and so continue sometime swifter, sometime slower, sometime broader, sometime narrower, as far as I could see. Now it flew not straight, but sometime it crooked this way, sometime that way, and sometime it ran round about in a compass. And some- time the snow would be lift clean from the ground up into the air and by and by it would be all clapped to the ground, as though there had been no wind at all, straightway it would rise and fly again. 12 ROGER ASCHAM. And that which was the most marvel of all, at one time two drifts of snow flew, the one out of the west into the east, the other out of the north into the east : and I saw two winds by reason of the snow, the one cross over the other, as it had been two highways. And again, I should hear the wind blow in the air, when nothing was stirred at the ground. And when all was stiU where I rode, not very far from me the snow should be lifted wonderfully. This experience made me more marvel at the nature of the wind, than it made me cunning in the know- ledge of the wind ; but yet thereby I learned perfectly that it is no marvel at all though men in a wind loose their length in shooting, seeing so many ways the wind is so variable in blowing. Toxoj>hiliis. P. II, L z. Quaiter with him. This use of the word gitarter appears to coincide with the nautical sense of the terTn^ ivhere a wind blowing on the quarter is one midway between due astern and straight on the side or beam ; in other words ^ a wind at an angle of 135 degrees to t/ie course of the arrow. P. II, 1. 8. Topcliffe and Boroiighbridge are both on the Great North Road, the fortnerafew miles N.E., the latter about the same distance S.E. ofRifcn. Both, though now decayed, have been of some note in English history. P. II, I. 27. A score, sc, yards. P. 12, L II. Length ; as we should now say, " ranged' Sm WALTER RALEIGH. Sir H'aller Raieigh, in b'sJaxUs la m Us merib a tyfe and modelqfa^reat EngiiskmatL, was bom at Hayes Barton in Devonshire in 1553, and 7l\is beheaded at Lotuiim on Oct. agM, i6i8. His History of the World, comfosed dnritig his bng caftrvily in the Tovier, is said tohaz-e received the collaboration o/Jonson and other men 0/ letters. Its/inest fassages aremagnifi- cent examples qfajctcenth century style. THE END OF EMPIRES AND OF LIFE. TVr O W these great kings, and conquering nations have been the -L ' subject of those ancient histories, which have been pre- served, and yet remain among us ; and withal of so many tragical poets as in the persons of powerful princes, and other mighty men, have complained against infidelity, time, destiny ; and most of all, against the variable success of worldly things, and instability of fortune. To these imdertakings, these great lords of the world have been stirred up, rather by the desire of fame, which plougheth up the air, and soweth in the wind, than by the affection of bearing rule, which draweth after it so much vexation, and so many cares. And that this is true, the good advice of Cineas to Pyrrhus proves. And certainly, as fame hath often been dangerous to the living, so is it to the dead of no use at all ; because separate from knowledge. Which were it otherwise, and the extreme iU bargain of buying this last discourse, understood by them which were dissolved ; they themselves would then rather have wished, to have stolen out of the world without noise than to be put in mind, that they have purchased the re- port of their actions in the world, by rapine, oppression and 14 SIR WALTER RALEIGH. cruelty, by giving in spoil the innocent and labouring soul to the idle and insolent, and by having emptied the cities of the world of their ancient inhabitents, and filled them again virith so many and so variable sorts of sorrows. Since the fall of the Roman empire, omitting that of the Germans, which had neither greatness nor continuance, there hath been no state fearful in the east, but that of the Turk ; nor in the west any prince that hath spread his wings far over his nest, but the • Spaniard ; who since the time that Ferdinand expelled the Moors out of Granada, have made many attempts to make themselves masters of all Europe. And it is true, that by the treasures of both Indies, and by the many kingdoms which they possess in Europe, they are at this day the most powerfuL But as the Turk is now counterpoised by the Persian, so instead of so many millions as have been spent by the English, French, and Netherlands in a defensive war, and in diversions ag^ainst them, it is easy to demonstrate, that with the charge of two hundred thousand pounds, continued but for two years or three at the most, they may not only be persuaded to live in peace ; but all their swelling and over-flowing streams may be brought back into their natural channels and old banks. These two nations, I say, are at this day the most eminent and to be regarded ; the one seeking to root out the Christian rehgion altogether, the other the truth and sincere profession thereof ; the one to join all Europe to Asia, the other the rest of all Europe to Spain. For the rest, if we seek a reason of the succession and con- tinuance of this boundless ambition in mortal men, we may add to that which hath been already said ; That the kings and princes of the world have always laid before them, the actions, but not the ends, of those great ones which preceded them. They are always transported with the glory of the one ; but they never mind the misery of the other, till they find the experience in themselves. They neglect the advice of God, while they enjoy life, or hope it ; but they follow the counsel of death, upon his first approach. It is he that puts into man all the wisdom of the world, without speaking a word ; which God with all the words of his law, promises or threats, doth not infuse. Death, which Sm WALTER RALEIGH. 15 hateth and destroyeth man, is believed ; God, which hath made him and loves him, is always deferred. " I have considered," saith Solomon, " all the works that are under the sun, and behold, all is vanity and vexation of spirit : " but who believes it, till death tells it us ? It was death, which opening the conscience of Charles the fifth, made him enjoin his son Philip to restore NavaiTe ; and king Francis the first of France, to command that justice should be done upon the murderers of the protestants in Merindol and Cabri^res, which till then he neglected. It is therefore death alone, that can suddenly make man to know himself. He tells the proud and insolent, that they are but abjects, and humbles them at the instant ; makes them cry, com- plain, and repent ; yea, even to hate their fore-passed happiness. He takes the account of the rich, and proves him a beggar ; a naked beggar, which hath interest in nothing, but in the gravel that fills his mouth. He holds a glass before the eyes of the most beautiful, and makes them see therein their deformity and rottenness ; and they acknowledge it. O eloquent, just and mighty death ! whom none could advise, thou hast persuaded ; what none hath dared, thou hast done ; and whom all the world hath flattered, thou only hast cast out of the world and despised : thou hast drawn together all the far stretched greatness, all the pride, cruelty, and ambition of man, and covered it all over with these two narrow words, Hicjacet. The History of the World. P. 13, 1. 15. Discourse. Tliis imrdat tltt date usually meant " argument," hit here is taken in the least special and exact sense = " being talked about" P. 15, 1. 9. Merindol and Cabtiferes. Villages of the Vaudois, which were sacied and their inhabitants subfected to all possible outrages during tlie campaign of the President d'Opfede in 1545. EDMUND SPENSER. Edmund Spenser •was horn oBout 1552, atid died at Westminster in 1599. The View of the State of Ireland, his only prose work 0/ any magnitttde, was posthumously published, Jt has interest not merely as his work and as a piece of prose of merits hut as one of the earliest political tractates of a finished and important kind in English. THE IRISH MANTLE. IT is a fit house for an outlaw, a meet bed for a rebel, and an apt cloke for a thief. First the outlaw being for his many crimes and villanies banished from the towns and houses of honest men, and wandering in waste places, far from danger of law, maketh his mantle his house, and under it covereth himself from the wrath of heaven, from the offence of the earth, and from the sight of men. When it raineth it is his pent-house ; when it bloweth it is his tent ; when it freezeth it is his tabernacle. In summer he can wear it loose ; at all times he can use it ; never heavy, never cumbersome. Likewise for a rebel it is as serviceable. For in his war that he maketh, if at least it deserve the name of war, when he still flyeth from his foe, and lurketh in the thick woods and strait passages, waiting for advantages, it is his bed, yea and almost his household stuff. For the wood is his house against all weathers and his mantle is his couch to sleep in. Therein he wrappeth himself round, and coucheth him- self strongly against the gnats, which in that country do more annoy the naked rebels, whilst they keep the wood, and do more sharply wound them than all their enemies swords, or spears, EDMUND SPENSER. 17 which can seldom come nigh them : yea and oftentimes their mantle seirveth them, when they are near driven, being wrapped about their left arm, for if is hard to cut through with a sword. Besides it is light to bear, light to throw away, and, being, as they commonly are, naked, it is to them all in all. Lastly for a thief it is so handsome, as it may seem it was first invented for him, for under it he may cleanly convey any fit pillage that cometh handsomely in his way, and when he goeth abroad in the night in freebooting, it is his best and surest friend ; for lying, as they often do, two or three nights together abroad to watch for their booty, with that they can prettily shroud themselves under a bush or a bank side, till they may conveniently do their errand : and, when all is over, he can in his mantle pass through any town or company, being close hooded over his head as he useth, from knowledge of any to whom he is endangered. Besides this, he, or any man else that is disposed to mischief or villany, may under his mantle go privily armed without suspicion of any, carry his head-piece, his skean, or pistol if he please to be always in readi- ness. A View of the State of Ireland, P. 17,1. 6. Handsome, itmust be remembered, is here used in Us ori^nal sense, im- plying "handy" P. 17, 1. 18. Skean, kiti/e. SIR PHILIP SIDNEY. Sir Philip Sidney was horn at Penshurst in 1554, and died of Jus wounds at the battle 0/ Zutphen in 1586. A II his work was posthumously published, bttt all is of a very high order as literature^ the Arcadia being the chief example of its peculiar style in English, and the Defence of Poetry the earliest noteworthy piece of English criticism. TO HIS SISTER. TO my dear Lady and Sister the Countess of Pembroke. Here have you now, most dear, and most worthy to be most dear lady ! this idle work of mine ; which I fear, like the spider's web, will be thought fitter to be swept away, than worn to any other purpose. For my part, in very truth, as the cruel fathers among the Greeks were wont to do to the babes they would not foster, I could well find in my heart to cast out, in some desert of forgetfulness, this child, which I am loth to father. But you desired me to do it, and your desire, to my heart is an absolute commandment. Now, it is done only for you, only to you : if you keep it to yourself, or commend it to such friends, who will weigh errors in the balance of good will, I hope, for the father's sake, it will be pardoned, perchance made much of, though in itself it have deformities. For indeed, for severer eyes it is not, being but a trifle, and that triflingly handled. Your dear self can best witness the manner, being done in loose sheets of paper, most of it in your presence ; the rest by sheets sent unto you as fast as they were done. In sum, a young head, not so well stayed as I would it were, and shall be S/H PHILIP SIDNEY. 19 when God will, having many fancies begotten in it, if it had not been in some way delivered, would have grown a monster and more sorry might I be that they came in, than that they gat out. But his chief safety shall be the not walking abroad ; and his chief protection, the bearing the livery of your name, which, if much good will do not deceive me, is worthy to be a sanctuary for a greater offender. This say I, because I know thy virtue so, and this say I, because it may be for ever so, or to say better, because it will be ever so. Read it then at your idle times, and the follies your good judg- ment will find in it, blame not, but laugh at. And so, looking for no better stuff than as in a haberdasher's shop, glasses or feathers, you will continue to love the writer, who doth exceed- ingly love you, and most heartily prays you may long live, to be a principal ornament to the family of the Sidneys. Dedication to the Arcadia. P. 19, n. 8, 9. And this say I — ever so. This p/trase^ lultich is ofu 0/ the rather indefeHsible jiH^les in which EUsahetlian writers delighted^ comes to little more than *' tuui bccmtse I lutve no dottbt of its continHonce^* RICHARD HOOKER. Richard Hooker was horn near Exeter in 1554. He •was scholar and fellow of Corpus ChrisH College^ Oxford^ took orders^ and was appointed to the cure of Drayton Beauckamp. Made Master of the Temple by Wfutgifif he engaged in active contro- versy. He died at his living of Bishopsboume in Kent in z6cx>. The first part of the Ecclesiastica] Polity appeared in 1594. THE SANCTIONS OF HUMAN LAW. IN laws, that which is natural bindeth universally, that which is positive not so. To let go those kind of positive laws which men impose upon themselves, as by vow unto God, con- tract with men, or such like ; somewhat it will make unto our purpose, a little more fully to consider what things are incident unto the making of the positive laws for the government of them that live united in public society. Laws do not only teach what is good, but they enjoin it, they have in them a certain con- straining force. And to constrain men unto any thing incon- venient doth seem unreasonable. Most requisite therefore it is that to devise laws which all men shall be forced to obey none but wise men be admitted. Laws are matters of principal conse- quence ; men of common capacity and but ordinary judgment are not able, — for how should they ? — to discern what things are fittest for each kind and state of regiment. We cannot be ignorant how much our obedience unto laws dependeth upon this point. Let a man though never so justly oppose himself unto them that are disordered in their ways, and what one amongst them commonly doth not stomach at such contradiction, storm at RICHARD HOOKER. 21 reproof, and hate such as would reform them ? Notwithstanding even they which brook it worst that men should tell them of their duties, when they are told the same by a law, think very well and reasonably of it. For why ? They presume that the law doth speak with all indiflferency ; that the law hath no side-respect to their persons ; that the law is as it were an oracle proceeded from wisdom and understanding. Howbeit laws do not take their constraining force from the quality of such as devise them, but from that power which doth give them the strength of laws. That which we spake before con- cerning the power of government must here be applied unto the power of making laws whereby to govern ; which power God hath over all : and by the natural law, whereunto he hath made all sub- ject, the lawful power of making laws to command whole poUtic so- cieties of menbelongeth so properly unto the same entire societies, that for any prince or potentate of what kind soever upon earth to exercise the same of himself, and not either by express commis- sion immediately and personally received from God, or else by authority derived at the first from their consent upon whose per- sons they impose laws, it is no better than mere tyranny. Laws they are not therefore which public approbation hath not made so. But approbation not only they give who personally declare their assent by voice, sign or act, but also when others do it in their names by right originally at the least derived from them. As in parliaments, councils, and the like assemblies, although we be not personally ourselves present, notwithstanding our assent is by reason of others, agents there in our behalf. And what we do by others, no reason but that it should stand as our deed, no less effectually to bind us than if ourselves had done it in person. In many things assent is given, they that give it not imagining they do so, because the manner of their assenting is not apparent. As for example, when an absolute monarch com- mandeth his subjects that which seemeth good in his own discre- tion, hath not his edict the force of a law whether they approve or dislike it .' Again, that which hath been received long sithence and is by custom now established, we keep as a law which we may not transgress ; yet what consent was ever thereunto sought or required at our hands ? 22 RICHARD HOOKER. Of this point therefore we are to note, that sith men naturally have no full and perfect power to command whole politic multi- tudes of men, therefore utterly without our consent we could in such sort be at no man's commandment living. And to be com- manded we do consent, when that society whereof we are part hath at any time before consented, without revoking the same after by the like universal agreement Wherefore as any man's deed past is good as long as himself continueth ; so the act of a public society of men done five hundred years sithence standeth as theirs who presently are of the same societies, because cor- porations are immortal ; we were then alive in our predecessors, and they in their successors do live stilL Laws therefore human, of what kind soever, are available by consent. Of the Laws of EcclesiasticiU Polity. P. so, L IS- Regiment = '* gavemmentr as in the famcits iTuiance of Knoj^s " Tiumstroiis regiment ofivamen" JOHN L YL Y. John Lyiy was horn in Kent about 1554 : ihe exact date of his death is nncertaiti. He ivas educated at Oxford^ and for a time keld a place at Court. Euphues if lie first par£) -was published in 1579 ; the plays hy ivhich tlte author is also known^ later. REMEDIA AMORIS. T^O you not know the nature of women which is grounded ••— ' only upon extremities ? Do they think any man to delight in them, unless he dote on them ? Any to be zealous except they be jealous ? Any to be fervent in case he be not furious ? If he be cleanly, then term they him proud, if mean in apparel a sloven, if tall a lungis, if short a dwarf, if bold, blunt : if shamefaced, a coward : insomuch as they have neither mean in their frumps, nor measure in their folly. But at the first the ox wieldeth not the yoke, nor the colt the snaffle, nor the lover good counsel, yet time causeth the one to bend his neck, the other to open his mouth, and should enforce the third to yield his right to reason. Lay before thine eyes the slights and deceits of thy lady, her snatching in jest and keeping in earnest, her perjury, her impiety, the countenance she showeth to thee of course, the love she beareth to others of zeal, her open malice, her dissembled mis- chief. O I would in repeating their vices thou couldst be as eloquent as in remembering them thou oughtest to be penitent : be she never so comely call her counterfeit, be she never so straight 24 JOHN LYLY. think her crooked. And wrest all parts of her body to the worst, be she never so worthy. If she be well set, then call her a boss ; if slender, a hazel twig ; if nutbrown, as black as a coal ; if well coloured, a painted wall ; if she be pleasant, then is she a wanton ; if sullen, a clown ; if honest, then is she coy ; if impudent, a harlot Search every vein and sinew of their disposition ; if she have no sight in descant, desire her to chant it ; if no cunning to dance, request her to trip it ; if no skill in music, proffer her the lute ; if an ill gait, then walk with her ; if rude in speech, talk with her ; if she be gag-toothed, tell her some merry jest to make her laugh ; if pink-eyed, some doleful history to cause her weep ; in the one her grinning wiU show her deformed, in the other her whining like a pig half roasted. It is a world to see how commonly we are bUnded with the collusions of women, and more enticed by their ornaments being artificial, than their proportion being natural. I loathe almost to think on their ointments and apothecary drugs, the sleeking of their faces, and all their slibber sauces, which bring queesiness to the stomach, and disquiet to the mind. Take from them their periwigs, their paintings, their jewels, their roUs, their bolsterings, and thou shalt soon perceive that a woman is the least part of herself. When they be once robbed of their robes, then will they appear so odious, so ugly, so monstrous, that thou wilt rather think them serpents than saints, and so like hags that thou wilt fear rather to be en- chanted than enamoured. Look in their closets, and there shalt thou find an apothecary's shop of sweet confections, a surgeon's box of sundry salves, a pedlar's pack of new fangles. Besides all this their shadows, their spots, their lawns, their leefikyes, their ruffs, their rings, shew them rather cardinal's courtesans, than modest matrons, and more carnally affected, than moved in conscience. If every one of these things severally be not of force to move thee, yet aU of them jointly should mortify thee. Moreover, to make thee the more stronger to strive against these sirens, and more subtle to deceive these tame serpents, my counsel is that thou have more strings to thy bow than one, it is safe riding at two anchors, a fire divided in twain bumeth JOHN LYLY. 2S slower, a fountain running into many rivers is of less force, the mind enamoured on two women is less affected with desire, and less infected with despair, one love expelleth another, and the remembrance of the latter quencheth the concupiscence of the first. Euphues. p. 33, 1. 1. M^^si cf this passage is iaJien directly^ and vtany of its pkrases are Utemtiy translaiid from Ch'iJs Remedia Amoris, especially from lines 315-355. yAw is characteristic 0/ Lyly and his sckool. P. 23, 1. 6. Lungis, a lounginff^ slcuckiHS^Jellffw. P. 23» L 7. Flumps, "tempers " " cross speeches." P. 33, 1. 8. Wieldeth, in the sense of " aln'de," " iroiyi : " so not common. P, 23, U. 14, 15. " Of course," "of teal," contrasted as tue s/wuld now contrast "as a matter of course " and " fy predilection." P. 24, 1. 2. Boss, a hump, a lump. P. 24, 1. 7. Sightin. Compare tile phrase " to he voell seen in." P. 24, 1. xo. Gag-toothed, with projecting teeth. P. 24, 1. 18. Slibber, slippery. P. 24, 1. 29. Leefikyes, apparently from " lief" "playthings," " toys." Chosen, ne do>iit,for its alUteration with " Lctms." FRANCIS BACON, VISCOUNT ST. ALBANS. Francis Bacon was bam in London in 1561. Leaving CainbHdge youngs he went to Paris in the suite 0/ Sir Amy as Paulet, there studied law, became M.P. for Middlesex in 1595, Attorney-General in 1613, Lord Keeper in 1617, in i6ig Lord Chancellor and Baron Verulam^ in 1620 Viscottnt St. Albans. He died in 1626. His fall is notorious^ his character disputed, his genius incotiiestable. OF MASQUES AND TRIUMPHS. THESE things are but toys, to come amongst such serious observations. But yet, since princes will have such things, it is better they should be graced with elegancy, than daubed with cost. Dancing to song, is a thing of great state and plea- sure. I understand it, that the song be in quire, placed aloft, and accompanied with some broken music ; and the ditty fitted to the device. Acting in song, especially in dialogues, hath an ex- treme good grace ; I say acting, not dancing, for that is a mean and vulgar thing ; and the voices of the dialogue would be strong and manly, a bass and a tenor ; no treble ; and the ditty high and tragical ; not nice or dainty. Several quires, placed one over against another, and taking the voice by catches, anthem-wise, give great pleasure. Turning dances into figure is a childish curiosity. And generally let it be noted, that those things which I here set down are such, as do naturally take the sense, and not respect petty wonderments. It is true, the alterations of scenes, so it be quietly and without noise, are things of great beauty and pleasure ; for they feed and relieve the eye, before it be full of the same object. Let the scenes abound with light, specially FJiANCIS BACON, VISCOUNT Jr. ALBANS. 27 coloured and varied ; and let the masquers, or any other, that are to come down from the scene, have some motions upon the scene itself before their coming down ; for it draws the eye strangely, and makes it with great pleasure to desire to see that it cannot perfectly discern. Let the songs be loud and cheerful, and not chirpings or pulings. Let the music likewise be sharp and loud, and well placed. The colours that shew best by candle- light, are white, carnation, and a kind of sea-water-green ; and oes or spangs, as they are of no great cost, so they are of most glory. As for rich embroidery, it is lost and not discerned. Let the suits of the masquers be graceful, and such as become the person when the vizards are off ; not after examples of known attires ; Turks, soldiers, mariners, and the like. Let anti-masques not be long ; they have been commonly of fools, satyrs, baboons, wild- men, antics, beasts, sprites, witches, Ethiops, pigmies, turquets, nymphs, rustics, cupids, statuas moving, and the like. As for angels, it is not comical enough to put them, in anti-masques ; and anything that is hideous, as devils, giants, is on the other side as unfit. But chiefly, let the music of them be recreative, and with some strange changes. Some sweet odours suddenly coming forth, without any drops falling, are, in such a company as there is steam and heat, things of great pleasure and refresh- ment. Double masques, one of men, another of ladies, addeth state and variety. But all is nothing except the room be kept clear and neat. For jousts, and tourneys, and barriers, the glories of them are chiefly in the chariots, wherein the challengers make their entry ; especially if they be drawn with strange beasts, as lions, bears, camels, and the like ; or in the devices of their entrance ; or in the bravery of their liveries ; or in the goodly furniture of their horses and armour. But enough of these toys. Essays. OF STUDIES. Studies serve for delight, for ornament, and for ability. Their chief use for delight, is in privateness and retiring ; for orna- ment, is in discourse ; and for ability, is in the judgment 28 FRANCIS BACON, VISCOUNT ST. ALBANS. and disposition of business. For expert men can execute, and perhaps judge of particulars, one by one; but the general counsels, and the plots and marshalling of affairs, come best from those that are learned. To spend too much time in studies is sloth ; to use them too much for ornament, is affectation ; to make judgment wholly by their rules, is the humour of a scholar. They perfect Nature, and are perfected by experience: for natural abilities are like natural plants, that need pruning by study ; and studies themselves do give forth directions too much at large, except they be bounded in by experience. Crafty men contemn studies, simple men admire them, and wise men use them ; for they teach not their own use ; but that is a wisdom without them, and above them, won by observation. Read not to contradict and confute ; nor to believe and take for granted ; nor to find talk and discourse ; but to weigh and consider. Some books are to be tasted, others to be swallowed, and some few to be chewed and digested ; that is, some books are to be read only in parts ; others to be read, but not curiously ; and some few to be read wholly, and with diligence and attention. Some books also may be read by deputy, and extracts made of them by others ; but that would be only in the less important arguments, and the meaner sort of books ; else distilled books are like common dis- tilled waters, flashy things. Reading maketh a full man ; con- ference a ready man ; and writing an exact man. And there- fore, if a man write little, he had need have a great memory ; if he confer little, he had need have a present wit ; and if he read little, he had need have much cunning, to seem to know that he doth not. Histories make men wise ; poets witty ; the mathe- matics subtle ; natural philosophy deep ; moral grave ; logic and rhetoric able to contend. Abeunt studia in mores. Nay there is no stond or impediment in the wit, but may be wrought out by fit studies : like as diseases of the body may have appro- priate exercises. Bowling is good for the stone and reins ; shooting for the lungs and breast ; gentle walking for the stomach ; riding for the head ; and the like. So if a man's wit be wandering, let him study the mathematics ; for in demonstra- tions, if his wit be called away never so little, he must begin again. If his wit be not apt to distinguish or find differences, Fi:.4iYCIS bacon; viscount ST. ALBANS. 29 let him study the schoolmen ; for they are cymini sectores. If he be not apt to beat over matters, and to call up one thing to prove and illustrate another, let him study the lawyers' cases. So every defect of the mind may have a special receipt. Essays. P. 26, 1. 1 1 . Quires seems here to have the double se/ise^ referrtHg 60th to tkeplace ofsiHgtHg ami to the choristers, P. 27, 1. 2. Motions, acting in dumh show. P. 27, U. 8, 9. Oes or spangs, metallic spots attti sf angles. P. =7, 1. 15. Turquets, a iind 0/ fug-dog. P. 28, 1. I. Expert men, practical meUj or, as we say jitore vswalfy now, specialists : this barbarism, however, has not come into legal use where expert holds iisgromtd. P. 28, 1. 31. Stood, " stoppage," BENJAMIN JONSON. Ben Jmsm, wko -was iorn at Westmimter in 1574, and died there in lAyl, is not often thought of as